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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28607286">exceeding expectations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_damn_louis/pseuds/hot_damn_louis'>hot_damn_louis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Eve Moneypenny, Bond thinks that Q is inept and inexperienced, Eve Moneypenny &amp; Q Friendship, Eve Moneypenny Ships James Bond/Q, Eve Moneypenny is the MI6 Grapevine, James Bond Being James Bond, James Bond Gives Great Gifts, James Bond Takes Care of Q, M/M, MI6 Agents, Q Branch, Q is Not Amused (James Bond), Q listens to Bond torture someone, Q loves to rise above those expectations, Slow Build</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:34:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,422</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28607286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_damn_louis/pseuds/hot_damn_louis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment that Q had met Bond, he knew that Bond was going to make assumptions about him. From the spots on his face to the ties that he wore to the way his hair flopped down over his eyes, Bond was going to make assumptions about who he was as a person. He was going to assume that he was young (he was, but that's besides the point), that he was naive, and that he was likely inexperienced sexually and romantically due to his job, his genius level IQ, and his age. </p><p>Q loved to exceed expectations.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bond/Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>268</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey everyone! I hope that you enjoy this fic. I have recently been getting back into Bond/Q fics, and then I found myself marathoning the movies and writing a work of my own. They have such a specific dry banter, and I hope to have emulated it here. </p><p>I have also been very pick and choose about the canon in this work. If you see things that don't totally align with canon, that's where I've made adjustments for this particular universe. </p><p>If you're my usual crowd who was likely expecting a Teen Wolf fic, I am sorry in advance. I hope that you read this and find the joy in such a fun and intense ship like 00Q. </p><p>Let me know what you think in the comments below! Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From the moment that Q had met Bond, he knew that Bond was going to make assumptions about him. From the spots on his face to the ties that he wore to the way his hair flopped down over his eyes, Bond was going to make assumptions about who he was as a person. He was going to assume that he was young (he was, but that's besides the point), that he was naive, and that he was likely inexperienced sexually and romantically due to his job, his genius level IQ, and his age. </p><p>Q loved to exceed expectations. </p><p>He loved providing Bond with a new piece of kit, something that he wouldn’t possibly think of. The Aston Martin, the Walther with the new technology, and even the briefcase with the small missiles in it. All were things that had Bond’s usually perfectly trained face slipping up. While it was never as visible as one would think, the subtle shift of an eyebrow or the slight widening of an eye was enough to prove that Q had exceeded expectations. </p><p>After handing Bond a wristwatch that doubled as a small grenade, Bond had even quirked an eyebrow, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Well done, Q,” he had said, nodding at Q before disappearing back out of the Q branch and on whatever mission he was going to disastrously cock up no matter what. </p><p>(The wristwatch never made it back. Despite not having needed it, Bond managed to use it anyways. It resulted in Q having to quickly cover his arse up with Interpol, which was something Q never wanted to have to do again. He did manage to chuff Bond about it when he returned, reminding him of the delicacy of treating Q and his whole branch with respect.)</p><p>But, besides the new pieces of kit, Q had inadvertently shown Bond aspects of his personal life that he was not quite ready to share. No thanks to Eve and Tanner, Q had managed to reveal parts of his private life that he would have rather been kept private. Which included everything from his own mother to his romantic interests to the fact that he had two cats, Tesla and Edison. </p><p>“Why are you acting so titchy about revealing anything?” Eve asked, perched on the edge of Q’s desk. She smoothed her hands over her pencil skirt, her manicure looking extra sharp today. All the better to claw someone’s eyes out with, Q supposed. </p><p>“It’s a lot different revealing something to you than revealing something to Bond or the rest of the division,” Q said, pointedly ignoring Eve in favor of writing up another tech report. The blasted double-ohs and their inability to return any piece of kit. It made Q’s life a living hell, particularly since he was responsible for the kit and the budgeting. He liked shirking responsibility off on R, or any of his staff in Q branch, but these reports needed his own signature. It was a bureaucratic shame. </p><p>“None of this information isn’t something someone could potentially find out about you. It’s not like you’ve gone through great lengths to completely hide it,” Eve said, tapping her manicured nails on his desk. The clacking almost matched the sound of his keyboard. </p><p>“But I like the guise of privacy,” Q said, sending off another report. “Now, I have a budgetary meeting with Tanner and the other department heads. I’m sure that I’ll see you there?” Q said, standing away from his desk. </p><p>“Of course. Although I doubt that you’re going to enjoy the meeting at all. They’re bringing in the accountant from MI-5 to discuss security budgets,” Eve said, walking out of Q’s office first, her heels clicking on the clean linoleum floors. She turned at the doorway, winking at Q before heading back towards the bank of elevators, out of sight. </p><p>That was one situation he did not want to be in. Very few people knew about last year’s bit of romance with Steven Graham, and Q certainly did not want to drudge up the details again. Eve was quite pleased with herself when she had discovered Steven attempting to romance Q through notes and trinkets that were delivered to the Q branch, but because of the Silva disaster, Q did not have the time to properly reciprocate. Their romance fizzled out before it had even started, leaving Q single and in charge of outfitting a crew of dashing double-oh agents instead of getting dinner with someone who was actually competent. </p><p>Q set his jaw, quickly locking his computer before heading out of his office. He was sure to close his office door all the way, effectively preventing any of his staff from entering the room. At the start of the job he had frequently found himself shoo-ing staff members out of his office, the team finding it appropriate to wait for him inside with whatever mundane questions they had. It was infuriating. If it weren’t for Tanner, he would have fired a lot more of his staff. </p><p>He dropped by the kitchen to get himself a fresh tea before heading to the elevators, already dreading the meeting. He found that his time could be better used with many other scenarios, and the concept of wasting his time in a budgetary meeting was quite ridiculous. </p><p>On his way to the elevators, he spotted 007 headed his way, his walk charming and suave as he was. He could see his female staff, and some of his male staff, looking up from their computers as he passed. His charm was addictive, and many of the Q branch staff were hooked on his particular brand of charm. It made Q’s job harder at times. </p><p>(He would never admit it to anyone except maybe his mother, but Q had the same addiction to Bond when he had first started. He had wanted to fall at the feet of him and swoon whenever they were in the same room together, but he had held out and pushed past that aspect of his attraction to Bond. Now, instead of a raging addiction, he had a quiet acceptance of Bond’s presence in his life. He was much like tea; Q could go without, but he much rather preferred life with it.) </p><p>“Bond,” Q said, nodding as he approached. </p><p>“I hear you have supplies for my next mission,” Bond said, sliding his hands into his pockets as he stopped in front of Q, the slight smirk playing at the edge of his lips. </p><p>A mission that Q had not heard of as of yet. He sighed, reaching for his tablet, pulling up the mission reports with one hand while sipping his tea with the other. If this was going to be another version of Spectre, Q was going to have to find some sort of contingency plan for himself. Putting himself in danger both with his job and with his physical state was not something that he enjoyed doing, even if it was for Bond. </p><p>“Ah, I see that M has approved your next mission now,” Q said, quickly sending off equipment requests through the entire branch. “I have a budgetary meeting to head off to. If I am not back by the time that R and the other staff have acquired your equipment, then she will have to see you off,” Q said, sipping his tea. </p><p>“And not get a goodbye from you?” Bond asked, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>“You cannot be the man who has everything,” Q said dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Instead of bothering with Bond any longer, he sidestepped past him, walking quickly toward the elevator bank. Even though it was tempting, he didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t possibly give Bond the satisfaction. </p><p>***</p><p>The budgetary meeting went as expected: totally and completely boring. Q made us of his time by pointedly ignoring Steven’s discussion and preparing the mission materials for Bond’s newest mission. He had R and #5 working on 002’s current mission in Malaysia, and both #3 and #4, his other two high ranked staff, working on 008’s return from Moscow. There was not much time to prepare Bond’s new mission to Israel or the supplies necessary by 5pm today, which was his departure from MI-6. It was not going to be very fun to leave the budgetary meeting only to rush and gather what was needed for Bond. </p><p>“Q, are you listening?” M said, raising an eyebrow at him. </p><p>“Quite,” Q said, glancing up from his tablet. “I am already aware that I have exceeded my yearly budget and it is only September. I do apologize for that, but as you are aware, M, I have an agent to prepare for departure,” Q said, politely yet firmly. </p><p>Eve’s eyes widened subtly, taking the studious notes of the meeting. No doubt she would edit his particular words to allow him to appear nicer in the future. </p><p>“Q, you are here because you have several agents under your care destroying items that are irreplaceable. That includes one 007, who you need to outfit. You have time to sit here and listen to the budgeting advice,” M said, eyes sharp. </p><p>“Sorry, sir. Carry on,” Q said quietly. He sank back in his chair, attempting to put more effort into listening to the words of one Steven Graham. </p><p>The fact that Q had ever attempted to date Steven was beyond him at this point. As he droned on about finances and monetary risk management within the security division and the practical application for MI-6, Q couldn’t help but stare at him and analyze exactly what he found intriguing to begin with. He certainly wasn’t an entertaining man, and while Q scarcely had conversational topics that varied from his work, he thought that his own work was far more interesting than balancing budgets. </p><p>On top of that, there were physical qualities that Q was astonished he had even appreciated to begin with. He remembered their mediocre sex, and the only redeeming quality being the way that Steven was a fairly selfless lover. His lean physique and dark hair were things that Q no longer found to be attractive or endearing. The creases in his forehead and the bump on his nose were no longer quirky, only a ghost of what Q used to find attractive. </p><p>He stopped that line of thought quickly. If he attempted to analyze and dissect any further, he would be closer and closer to admitting what he truly found attractive now. He was not prepared for the implications of the qualities he currently found attractive. </p><p>The meeting concluded without any further outbursts from anyone and a promise to send over budgetary documents to Q branch. Already, without having read them, he knew he was going to push them off onto R or another of his top five team members. He was not going to bother with any of them, not when he had other far more important things to do. </p><p>He slipped out of the room quickly, walking at a fast clip back towards the elevator bank. He only had a few hours to prepare Bond’s equipment and brief him for the mission. He did not have time to discuss money, not when it was pointless. The double-oh agents had almost no thought for the monetary implications of destroying equipment. It was their job to get the intelligence they needed and pull triggers. It was not in their training to mind the expensive equipment. </p><p>“Q!” Eve called, her heels clicking on the cold floor as she followed him. Her long legs allowed her to catch up to him fairly quickly, hair bouncing as she walked next to him. “M is not particularly happy with you in the meeting. And you didn’t bother sticking around to say hello to Steven,” Eve said, bumping Q with her elbow. </p><p>“You’re need to set me up with another governmental employee is a commendable task,” Q said, keeping his eyes forward. “Besides, M is going to be pleased that 008 is making it back with his kit intact. R has forwarded me the information regarding that,” Q said, holding up the message from R on his tablet for Eve to read. “That should have M off my back,” Q added, reaching forward to press the down button on the elevator. </p><p>“But you didn’t mention anything about Steven,” Eve said, catching Q’s arm. </p><p>“I have found him to no longer be my type, Moneypants,” Q said, stepping into the elevator. He pressed the button for the bottommost floor, waiting for the doors to slide shut under the gaze of Eve. As the doors were sliding shut, he looked up to make eye contact, winking. That alone ought to occupy her for some time, leaving Q to actually perform his job. </p><p>When the doors opened in Q branch, he immediately caught sight of R with an envelope, presumably for Bond. “Wait up, R,” Q called, striding towards her. He plucked the envelope from her hands, opening it to quickly check over the documents. </p><p>“I was about to brief 007,” R said, glancing at Q. “Weren’t you in a budgetary meeting?”</p><p>“I was. And I’ll take over 007’s briefing. Thank you for retrieving his documents,” Q said, holding up the envelope. He heard a ding from his tablet, signalling the budget documents that Steven was likely sending over. “I’ll need you to go over the budgets with Steven.”</p><p>“I thought that you were going to. Eve had mentioned your previous relationship with him, and I figured that you would want to,” R said, her brow furrowing slightly. </p><p>“A schoolmate of yours?” Bond asked, walking up to the two of them. He smiled at R, charming as ever, before turning his attention to Q. His eyes were always a bright shade of blue, but somehow, under the pressure of the current conversation, they seemed to burrow into Q’s brain even more than usual. </p><p>Q turned all of his attention to R. “I wouldn’t consider a few fucks between strangers to be a relationship, so please ignore Eve. Go to the budget meeting so that we can pointedly ignore his advice, and ensure that #3 and #4 have their return report on my desk before they leave today. If you still need work after that, R, I’m sure that a report on the intelligence we’ve received from 004’s last mission would suffice,” Q said, cocking an eyebrow at R. When she didn’t protest or say anything, he nodded, dismissing her. </p><p>He walked away, knowing that Bond was going to follow him. He frequently followed him when he had nothing better to do besides torment the Q branch, so the ghost feeling of a person by his side was one that Q was quite used to. After a moment, Bond fell properly into step with him, matching his strides perfectly. He kept quiet in the pensive way that he did sometimes. The quiet pensiveness was not necessarily a good thing. </p><p>“It feels like you have something to say, Bond,” Q said, walking back towards the labs and the garage. He didn’t turn to glance at Bond, refusing to give him the satisfaction. He was to be completely and fully undisturbed by this piece of personal information being revealed. Silence meant that Q had put Bond into his place. </p><p>“You don’t seem the type,” Bond said finally. </p><p>“The gay type?” Q said, stopping in his tracks. He raised an eyebrow at Bond, half curious if something entirely offensive would slip from his lips. He had many colleagues in the past judge him for his theoretical indiscretions, and he was not going to take that behavior from a double-oh agent. </p><p>“The casual sex type,” Bond said, smirking. </p><p>Q turned and continued back towards the labs, relieved at the turn of the conversation. “Do my cats and mortgage pin me as a monogamous type?” He self consciously tugged at the edges of his suit jacket, his ill fitting suit jacket. He was aware that a perfectly tailored suit was what Bond typically wore, but he scarcely had time to visit a tailor when he had the entirety of Q branch on his shoulders. </p><p>“Well, yes,” Bond said, his eyes glancing at Q appreciatively. “That and the cardigans you favor.”</p><p>If it were up to Q, he would still be wearing the cardigans that he liked. He appreciated the snug fit and style of a well picked cardigan over the tightness and restrictiveness of a suit anyday, but he had gotten word from M that he was to dress more professionally. Hence wearing the suit instead of a smart shirt and sweater combination. </p><p>“Ah,” Q said, holding up his ID card to let them into the labs proper. He watched Bond grab the unlocked door, holding it open for him. Instead of questioning it, he walked through, keeping up his pace and expecting Bond to do the same. “I do own other clothes besides cardigans,” Q added, escorting both of them to a metal table on the far wall. </p><p>“As is evident,” Bond said, giving Q a once over. </p><p>Instead of flustering and blushing under Bond’s gaze, Q busied himself with opening up the intelligence file on his tablet, laying the envelope of documents down on the table. He reached down to the second shelf and grabbed the small Walther case, setting it next to the envelope. He noticed Bond’s eyes watching his actions, but he ignored them. His own desire for Bond’s gaze was outweighed by the necessary professionalism of their profession. He had a task to do, and a large portion of that was giving Bond the tools to return to MI-6 alive and intact. </p><p>“Your passports, gun, and tracker,” Q said, gesturing towards each piece as he referenced it. He pulled another slim box from under the table, sliding it next to the gun case. “And a headset for you. One of the Q staff is going to guide you through the use of a computer to collect data,” Q added, tapping the earpiece case with a single finger. </p><p>“Please let it be you,” Bond said dryly, grabbing the envelope to tuck into his suit jacket. He opened the case of the earpiece, only glancing once at the clear plastic piece before closing the case again. “That all?”</p><p>“I have a file of information regarding Michael Abramov uploaded to your mobile for the plane journey. It is simply an information mission regarding the current politics of Israel. Please do your best to keep things peaceful,” Q said, pressing his lips together. </p><p>“As you wish,” Bond said, picking up the other pieces of equipment. </p><p>“And do attempt to return everything in one piece,” Q added, watching Bond turn and walk away. He didn’t hear a response from Bond, but he saw the subtle hitch in his shoulders, likely from letting out an amused breath. </p><p>In his history of outfitting Bond for missions, he had a 2% chance of bringing the entirety of his equipment back intact. 25% chance of his gun returning intact, and a near 33% chance of bringing back either the earpiece or the tracker. If he was here to see it, M would have been proud of his restraint in giving Bond anything besides the bare essentials. He already knew that the other Q staff members had packed the technology into his suitcase, giving him the single cord to connect his phone to the computer to collect intelligence. He was entirely unsure of how likely that cord was to make it back intact, since they typically did not send Bond on reconnaissance missions. </p><p>Q scrubbed a hand over his hair, shaking his head at where Bond had left labs. He was absolutely frustrated, but he couldn’t show it. He had a pile of emails and paperwork to do. </p><p>***</p><p>There was always a quiet in the middle of the night in the Q branch. Most of the techies had left, working more traditional work hours. Even R never stayed past 9pm, claiming that she had a husband and a life to return to on occasion. She was dedicated, but she was nowhere near as dedicated as Q was. </p><p>He was awaiting a call from Bond on his current mission. After receiving confirmation that he had arrived in Israel with his kit intact, it was a mere matter of days before he would find access to the singular computer that he needed access to. It was tedious on his part, and almost forgettable on Q’s end. He had gotten a ping on his tablet this morning saying that tonight was the night, so he had taken a nap in his office around midday and made copious amounts of tea to keep himself awake until Bond’s call. </p><p>This late, he found his mind drifting from his work. He was usually keen on keeping up with other projects or answering the several hundred emails he inevitably accumulated when he was not at work, but he had been up since six am, and his brain was starting to get into it’s first fog. He sipped his tea, tapping out emails to Tanner and M regarding the previous missions and how the data processing was going. </p><p>He had caught up on his paperwork filing, what with all of the double-oh agents grounded for various reasons. It was rare to have only one double-oh on the field, but then again, Bond was rarely at home for more than a week or two at a time. A life as a professional spy seemed rather lonely in the face of a world that truly did not know you. </p><p>He heard the ping from his tablet, the one of an incoming call, and quickly clicked the key to unmute himself on comms. “Hello,” Q said politely, knowing that Bond hated when he jumped on without any sort of preamble. </p><p>“I’m in the study of his house right now, I have only a few minutes,” Bond said, his voice low and husky over the line. </p><p>“Attach the cable to your phone and the computer,” Q said, pulling up a visual from outside of the target’s house. He could see the silhouette of Bond, but no defining features. So visuals were not going to be applicable. </p><p>“Got it.”</p><p>“Alright, boot up the laptop,” Q said, seeing the connection between the laptop and phone come up on Q’s screen. His own operating system was picking up on the adjacent operating system, with Q having some knowledge but minimal access where he was. “When you get into the login screen, you should be able to enter the list of passwords I’ve sent to your mobile phone one by one until it unlocks.”</p><p>“What if you’re wrong?” Bond asked, keys clacking on the other end of the line. </p><p>“I am rarely wrong about cracking someone’s password. It takes an intimate knowledge of someone as a person, and some light guesswork. Hence the multiplicity of the password list,” Q said, fiddling with a pencil between his fingers. He almost wanted to see Bond’s face, see the way his lips would have quirked at the thought of Q being smart. </p><p>“I’m in. The password was snookums69. How you got that amazes me.”</p><p>Q laughed to himself quietly at the thought of a high ranking government man having the password to his personal computer be a reference to his wife and a sex position. He was very predictable in the end. </p><p>“Now, press the start button on your mobile screen, and it should take a few minutes to copy the entirety of his computer,” Q said, leaning back in his chair. </p><p>Operations always seemed to run smoothly between the two of them. R said she hated being on comms with Bond, and the other highly numbered staff refused entirely after he had snapped at them in a completely unprofessional manner. He almost felt bad for #5 after that, since he had called her an unintelligent tosser in front of the majority of Q branch. </p><p>But Q liked working with Bond. Despite the small crush he was harboring, there was still the matter that they worked well together. He listened, most of the time, and frequently was a lot more interesting to talk to than anyone else. 006 only liked discussing the cars that he encountered on his missions, and 004 was far too much of a label snob to be interesting. Bond had the right mix of wit and dry humor that had Q on his toes, ready to talk and guide him through whatever was needed. </p><p>“How long is this going to take again?” Bond asked. </p><p>“Patience is a virtue,” Q reminded him, smiling slightly. </p><p>“And I am not a virtuous man,” Bond replied. </p><p>“Ah. I see you’re deciding to be difficult. Whatever will I do,” Q deadpanned. </p><p>Bond let out a huff on the other end. “I’m only difficult for you. Mind you, I did enact revenge on those gondola thugs,” Bond said. </p><p>“That revenge was very much appreciated, considering you had landed me there in the first place,” Q said, tapping the edge of his pencil on his desk. He hummed a few notes of a song, looking up at his screen and the bar indicating how much longer it would take Bond’s mobile to finish uploading. </p><p>“Are you humming Coldplay?” Bond asked, sounding almost amused. </p><p>“I’m surprised you know it,” Q said, almost embarrassed at being caught. He had anticipated that Bond would not know the tune, and perhaps write off his humming as a part of his process in hacking into some governmental files. He was not expecting him to call out his actions. </p><p>“I am versed in popular culture, and I am not as old as you would assume me to be,” Bond said, sounding almost offended. He hummed back a few notes himself before stopping abruptly. “This is what you have me doing. Humming Coldplay while on a mission.”</p><p>“I strive to redefine normal,” Q said in response. It was not a real response, not the one that he would have instinctually said, but it was better than nothing. He would rather not reveal more about himself or make a fool out of his actions if he could avoid it. He certainly did not want to tell Bond he liked this version of him, the one who was relaxed enough to hum. </p><p>“As you should,” Bond muttered. </p><p>There was a ping on the computer, signalling that it was done copying files. </p><p>“Please press the button on your phone to start the wiping agent, which should only take a few moments, and then you are free to return to your hotel,” Q said, eyes watching the screen above him. </p><p>“Such a boring mission. It’s almost as if M doesn’t trust me anymore,” Bond muttered. Seconds later, the activity of his mobile was on the screen in front of Q, displaying that he had started the wiping. </p><p>“Or maybe he’s worried about our budget,” Q said, twirling the pencil between his fingers. “He has chewed me out over the cost of the exploding watch and the damage it has done for international relations.”</p><p>“I am sorry about that. But you know I can’t resist one of your gadgets,” Bond said, a smirk evident through his voice. “You always seem to give me the best ones.”</p><p>There was a good reason for that, one that Q was not planning on voicing out loud. “I appreciate your flair for the dramatics, and can’t help but indulge it on occasion.”</p><p>Bond laughed, a quiet suppressed laugh, but still airy and real. “Oh, Q.”</p><p>The computer pinged again, showing that he was finished. </p><p>“Go ahead and disconnect your mobile from the computer and exit the building. And please do reserve the theatrics for when I have more sleep,” Q said, yawning uncontrollably. </p><p>“I’ll consider it. Goodnight, Q.”</p><p>“Goodnight Bond,” Q said. He clicked off of the comms link on his computer, but kept it open and muted on his tablet. He was not about to leave Bond out there alone, not when he knew the type of trouble that Bond frequently got himself into. He would take his tablet home and hope for the best through the morning, perhaps getting enough sleep to have him be functional for tomorrow’s send off of 002 and 009. Not that R couldn’t do it, but they found her to be harsh on occasion. She was not necessarily a people person. </p><p>Instead of hoping on the tube, Q called for an MI-6 car to take him home. The middle of the night did not appear safe for Q either on the tube or in a cab, and he would prefer not to have to explain why a tablet full of government and country wide intelligence had ended up in a thief’s hands. It was far easier to get a car and explain to M the situation later. As if M had truly cared about anything of that sort when he had far more to do. </p><p>He barely made it through the retinal scan, palmprint scan, and the 17 digit code before he entered his flat, locking it up quickly before flopping on the couch. He wanted to stay there, sleep on the couch in his work clothes and hope that Bond did not send out an emergency alert. But he had to check on Bond and change before sleeping. </p><p>It was a comfort when he saw that Bond was back in his hotel where he should be, presumably asleep. </p><p>***</p><p>He was aware that Bond had made it back to London through the grapevine in MI-6. The grapevine was Eve. </p><p>He expected the agent to head down to the Q branch to drop off his equipment and debrief that afternoon, after his debrief with M himself. As if he needed two debriefs after a simple information retrieval mission, one that could have gone to a much lower ranked agent if it weren’t for the lethality of the target. The fact that he had to do much more than drop off intel and write up a report was mind blowing to Q. </p><p>He did not expect to be interrupted while he was reviewing the code for a new aspect of the speech-to-text translator that they had installed onto all of the agents phones. In the middle of squinting at a line of code, a mug of tea was placed on his left next to his tablet, still steaming hot. </p><p>“A visit to my desk, 007, what a pleasure,” Q said, only glancing at Bond. “You’re either grovelling or up to no good,” Q added, exiting out of the code since he was satisfied with it. He swiveled towards Bond, raising his eyebrows slightly. </p><p>“Can’t I visit my favorite Quartermaster?” Bond asked, his mouth stifling a grin. “Check on the intelligence that I retrieved for you lot?”</p><p>Q tilted his head at this. “You can’t possibly have expected us to hack into encrypted files in the scant hours since you dropped off your mobile this morning,” Q said, blinking at the mere thought of it. He had his best hackers on the information, and he had full faith in #7 and #12. He was sure that they would yield results by end of day today, if not by morning tomorrow depending on the files. But only a few hours was not nearly enough time. </p><p>“I have the highest expectations of you,” Bond said, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. Doing so, he elongated his frame, making him seem even more perfectly tailored and fit. </p><p>“Then I’m sorry to have disappointed you thus far,” Q said quietly, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, curious if this line of conversation was purely banter or a prelude for something else. </p><p>“Disappointed? Q, you could never disappoint me,” Bond said, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes seemed to challenge Q’s, his eye contact unwavering and almost alarming in combination with his clear blue eyes. His eyes darted down to Q’s torso and back to his face, eyes crinkling with a subtle smile. “Especially not in this waistcoat.”</p><p>Q tried not to blush, but around Bond that seemed to be something he had very little control over. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”</p><p>Bond leaned in until their faces were close, foreheads almost touching. His eyes were even more soul piercing up close, particularly with all of his attention focused on Q. “Oh, Q, my job is to use flattery to get me everywhere.” </p><p>With that, he straightened, tugging his tie back into place and striding out of Q’s office. Before he pushed through the door and back out into the main room, he stopped and dropped his equipment on the metal table near the door. It was entirely intact. He pushed out of the door, striding away towards the elevators. Q shamelessly watched him leave. </p><p>It wasn’t until almost twenty minutes later that Q got up to check over his equipment and return it when he realized that Bond not only skipped his debrief, but he had left a Coldplay CD in the pile with his equipment. </p><p>A gift from a double-oh agent. It was rare and highly unlikely to hold good intentions. The last staff member to receive gifts of that nature was Prisha from Medical, who had received gift after gift from the old 005 in order to give him good medical exams when he clearly had a bad knee. Gifts were typically bribes, not meant as an act of kindness or for any other intention. </p><p>He had to strain his memory to attempt to remember any sort of gifts from a double-oh before that. There were rumors of M’s old secretary being woo-ed by gifts from the last 009, but that was long enough ago that people were unsure if it was rumor or fact. He doubted that Bond would have a conscious memory back that far, but even then he wouldn’t dare ask. Not when he was wondering the exact same thing about Bond himself. </p><p>Instead of tossing the CD in the bin, he pushed it into the CD drive of his desktop computer, letting the notes of Life in Technicolor float out of his computer quietly. He knew that no one outside of his office could hear him listening to music, or even know exactly what he was doing, but he couldn’t help but feel mildly self conscious at the idea of listening to a CD that Bond had bought him. It was such a unique gift for a man like Bond. </p><p>Rather than overanalyzing this particular line of query, Q forced himself back to answering emails and reviewing code. At least he could control this particular aspect of his life. Code did not have personalities or missions, and they certainly did not have nearly as much unpredictable human behavior. </p><p>(He wouldn’t admit it, but the CD motivated Q to work harder on gadgets for Bond. He already thought of a few blueprints from the old Q days, things that Bond might enjoy purely for the spectacle and drama of it all. If Q was going to be wasting departmental money on Bond, he might as well find some joy in the absolute theatrics that were guaranteed when Bond was involved.)</p><p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Middle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He would drop by Q branch more frequently, complaining of something wrong with his mobile or stopping by to see what “toys” Q had currently been crafting up. Sometimes he would stop by after training, sweaty but not disheveled in his top of the line athletic clothes. There was something semi-erotic about seeing Bond in a navy blue matching top and bottom set, looking as if he could have been a model in a past life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! Thank you for the support so far. I really appreciate all of you :)</p>
<p>I am really enjoying writing as Q. He's sort of wordier, and can tend to be pretty posh about things. I also feel like he is far more complicated than people like to think. </p>
<p>Only one more part to go! I'm updating the tags to reflect the contents of this chapter, and there is a slight CW for the last scene. Please check the end note for the CW.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Q started seeing Bond more frequently around HQ. Not that he saw him frequently, but purely more than he used to. Instead of only seeing him between missions and when he was getting a proper dressing down from M, he started to see him when he checked in for training sessions or the double-oh’s mandatory group therapy the third Wednesday of the month. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would drop by Q branch more frequently, complaining of something wrong with his mobile or stopping by to see what “toys” Q had currently been crafting up. Sometimes he would stop by after training, sweaty but not disheveled in his top of the line athletic clothes. There was something semi-erotic about seeing Bond in a navy blue matching top and bottom set, looking as if he could have been a model in a past life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were no more gifts, not that Q could discern. On occasion the tea in the breakroom was restocked without having to remind Liam from the Cafeteria, or a steaming cup of tea would be set down at his elbow by a certain double-oh, who would pass through wordlessly as if it were his job to pester Q and make him lose his train of thought without saying anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That looks darling,” Bond said behind him, making him jerk out of his seat. On the screen was a blueprint for a prototype rocket launcher that Q was anticipating loading into the next few cars to drive out of MI-6. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, but not for you 007,” Q said, minimizing the window and leaving it on his blank home screen. He would have twisted in his chair to face the agent, but with his close proximity behind him, Q warranted that to be a bad idea for their professional work. (Perhaps a good idea for Q’s growing fantasies with Bond, but he was not going to acknowledge that while actually at work.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whyever not?” Bond asked, straightening up. He had a frown on his face, his suit looking impeccably sharp. It was a dark brown, not a color that Bond would typically wear, but it still looked good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“M has decided to cut your personal budget for gadgets. You’re lucky I’m allowed to keep supplying you with guns and mobiles,” Q said, opening up a new window on his computer. He quickly pulled up the budget for the double-oh agents, magnifying it so that Bond could see his line more clearly. “See this line I’ve highlighted, that is your budget. It is nearly 10 times less than the budget I’m allowed to give 004,” Q said, gesturing towards the screen with his finger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What allows her to have so much bloody money?” Bond murmured, his eyes focused on the screen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She tends to return her equipment intact. Much like I’ve asked you to do,” Q said, closing out the window. Her clothes lasted the longest as well, but that was not something that Q wanted to add onto the argument. She was a label snob, sure, but she could also kill six men without ripping or dirtying her McQueen dress. Based off of equipment return alone, she was Q’s favorite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now what do I have to do to get a fancy car from you?” Bond asked, or rather purred, into Q’s ear. He was crowding him from behind, clearly turning the seduction up to his usual level. The deepness of his voice was thoroughly distracting, but Q was not going to falter on this matter. It was quite literally his job to disallow Bond from taking yet another car to destroy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid wining and dining won’t work,” Q said in his calm and collected way. He pushed up the edge of his glasses, deciding to pull up a piece of code to work on while Bond was breathing down his neck. He sort of wondered if programming Bond’s mobile to quack everytime he received a message was a worthwhile use of his time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubt you’ve ever properly been dined, my dearest Q,” Bond said, his breath ghosting along his ear. He let one of his hands rest on Q’s shoulder, the warmth seeping through his cardigan quickly. He tried not to think about those same warm hands anywhere else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem to have a lot of assumptions about me,” Q said, pulling up the connection between Bond’s mobile and his system, parsing through the code quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It seems I do,” Bond said quietly, watching Q. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q shrugged, knocking Bond’s hand off of his shoulder. “I doubt that you’ve been to </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Bulli</span>
  </em>
  <span> for dinner before,” Q said, his hands flying as he started a new line of programming. He could feel Bond stiffen behind him, straightening. “My boyfriend at the time took me there, only a few months before I became Quartermaster. I never quite understood how he had gotten us a table, but as both a brilliant hacker and technically in line for the Spanish throne, I didn’t ask too many questions,” Q continued, glancing out of the corner of his eye in the hopes that he would see Bond’s reaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You dated someone from the </span>
  <span>Borbón family?” Bond asked, sounding sort of surprised at this fact. “Was it Luis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, he’s quite ancient. It was Alfonso. He’s much more age appropriate,” Q said, typing away quickly. He could feel Bond’s thoughts over his shoulder in his attempt to figure out which of the cousins Alfonso was. It would only be moments before Bond had realized that they were a similar age. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are quite interesting, Q,” Bond said finally. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do love to exceed your expectations, 007,” Q said, pressing enter as a statement and a  flourish. “Now, I have work to do, and if you attempt to enter my office without my permission again, your mobile will start playing the Spice Girls at top volume,” Q said, rotating in his chair to see Bond’s reaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had no directly visible reaction, but his eyes tightened at the thought. “I suppose that there is no way I could bribe you with dinner to rid my mobile of that,” Bond asked, his lips pressing together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, you could always try,” Q said, smiling at him. He turned back to his computer, feeling as if he said too much. He was giving Bond a chance, giving him an opportunity, and while he had attempted to keep him at arm's length, it looked like those efforts were slowly slipping away. Not that he had any sort of keen knowledge that Bond could ever possibly be interested in him, but he had sort of hoped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the meantime, he would gladly take their banter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, it was almost as if the floodgates were open with 007 charm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eve walked into Q’s office carrying a small bag of takeout, glancing around at the trinkets and bobbles that had cropped up on every clear flat surface within Q’s office. Despite the fact that Bond could not enter his office under fear of his mobile going off, there seemed to be something new nearly every day. Even after Q had sent him on a mission (with only a gun and a watch, he was headed to Italy and didn’t require more), there still seemed to be something new every day. Which meant that he was likely bribing Q’s staff as well. He figured it was likely #27 considering her infatuation with Bond and her likelihood to do anything he would say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your office has changed,” Eve said, her feet slowing. “When did this happen?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bond has given me something new almost every day for the past month,” Q said gesturing towards the room without looking away from the screen. “I mentioned this the last time I was upstairs, Eve.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t realize that was the truth,” Eve said, pushing aside one of four total Coldplay CD’s that Bond had brought, setting the takeout bag down. “Even though he’s on mission right now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q shrugged, pulling up Bond’s SmartBlood tracker on his smaller monitor. “He’s currently safe in Genoa, but he has likely bribed someone in my branch.” Q popped up, glancing out of his office windows towards the rest of the branch below him, the workers either at their desks or moving between computers, none of them suspicious on sight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Eve asked, running her fingers along the edge of the table. She was glancing at the gifts, the items, her eyes flicking back towards Q’s figure after every near surprise. “He’s under the impression you like Coldplay,” Eve said, sliding the CD’s together. “And that you have an interest in small boxes of handcrafted teas,” Eve added when she had opened one of the small wooden boxes. She turned to a different surface, one with a few books piled on top. “I take it that these books are also presents?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The best of the lot. How he knew I had an interest in memoirs and Thoreau is beyond me,” Q said, moving back to answering emails. He had several from M regarding the status of the three current missions: 007’s, 002’s in Bulgaria, and 008’s in San Antonio, Texas. He wished he could write back a witty remark about 008 being as prickly as a cactus about being assigned to a case in conjunction with the FBI, but he instead forwarded the email to R, allowing her to give the status report. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So it seems our dear Q has drawn the attention of a double-oh,” Eve said, tidying up his workspaces, freeing up space for presumably more gifts and trinkets. “What ever could have brought this on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q adjusted his glasses, half wishing that he had taken a half day to have lunch with his mother as he intended. “He was informed about my previous relationship with Alfonso,” Q said tightly, clicking through emails and updates, trying his hardest to get through what was necessary before having to check in with 002 at 1300 and 007 at 1500. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alfonso?” Eve asked curiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don Alfonso Zurita,” Q said quietly, not quite sure if he was ready for her reaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a few moments for her to piece things together. “A cousin of the Spanish king? Someone who could technically be in line for our very own crown here in England?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And somehow this alone motivated him to bring you gifts? That jealous git,” Eve said, her heels clacking as she crossed the room to Q. “Please repeat the whole conversation to me again before I interrogate my gossip informants.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gave her the rundown, including the bit about encouraging being woo-ed by the agent. He wasn’t angry or put out by any of the gifts, it was the matter of gossip and impracticality where Q found himself getting annoyed. He did not have a practical use for the entirety of Coldplay’s discography, and he certainly did not need more books to read on his scant time off. He would much rather accept new clothing, or maybe his equipment returned in one piece. That would be a far better use of Bond’s time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you encouraged him,” Eve said slowly, as if trying to understand him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you didn’t expect him to take you up on that offer?” Eve asked, giving him a look. It was her look of disbelief, and based on the tick of her left eyebrow alone, she was displeased with this current turn of events. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubted it. He has not been known to seduce men on his previous honeypot missions, so I made an assumption that he was a straight man,” Q said, sitting back in his chair. “Am I wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eve burst out laughing, grabbing the edge of her chair with her hand. She laughed for nearly 10 seconds before catching her breath, wiping under her eyes as if she had started crying with laughter. “Oh, Q, you haven’t been around as long as some of us. Bond used to be the go-to for male honeypot missions when he was more youthful,” Eve said, shaking her head. “They all go to 001 now because he’s fully gay and can’t go on female honeypot missions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was almost as if Q had swallowed his tea the wrong way. “Bond is queer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The statistical probability was low, according to recent census statistics. 0.7% of people in the UK reported as bisexual on the last census, which would be less than one per 100 people. Out of the thousands of workers at MI-6, roughly 21 would statistically be categorized as bisexual. When compared to the fact that 001 was knowingly gay, it was statistically less likely for another of the double-ohs to be queer at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But if he really thought about it, the flexibility of a double-oh would lead to a flexibility of mission, so would that skew the numbers higher for all agents, or particularly double-oh agents? This was a particular conundrum that Q found himself mulling over, attempting to figure out exactly how many of his colleagues likely knew that Bond was queer and never mentioned that to Q over the last four years of working at MI-6. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re overanalyzing this,” Eve said pushing at his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am merely figuring out the statistical probability of that being true,” Q said, rolling his eyes. “Out of the nearly three thousand workers in MI-6, up to 2% of them are gay. Which would mean that at least 60 workers at MI-6 are queer. You’re telling me that out of thousands, three end up working within close proximity to one another?” Q asked, trying to run the numbers in his head again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rather than go purely off of statistical data, why don’t you listen to the fact that I have proof that Bond is queer?” Eve asked, sliding out her mobile and taping through a few screens. When she seemed to have found what she wanted, she turned the screen towards Q. On it was a much younger Bond. “This is from ten years ago.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He had been a double-oh for maybe twelve years total, so this was likely early on in his career. He had his arm around another man, someone matching his height but more lean in his body. Bond had sandy blonde hair in far less of a severe haircut as he had now, and the man next to him had light brown hair that looked relaxed. They both looked happy, the two of them smiling for the camera. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>“That’s Nick. He was Bond’s first proper relationship after joining MI-6. He died in a car accident three weeks after this. 001 was onboarded and Bond never had to seduce a man again,” Eve said, shrugging. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren’t even M’s right hand ten years ago. How did you get this photo?” Q asked, his curiosity ranking higher than his professional practicality. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The old M had it on her computer. She was likely the one who took it. I snatched it before the whole computer was wiped,” Eve said, making a face. She patted Q on the head, turning as if to leave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And this means?” Q asked, raising his eyebrows at Eve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you know already,” Eve said, smiling as she walked out of Q’s office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could speculate that it implied he was careful with his words and his feelings, for 007 was much more fragile than he had originally anticipated. He had seen some of Bond’s behaviors after Vesper, the way that he pined as if it was a full time job. That level of heartbreak was something that Q never wanted to replicate or be on the receiving end of. He certainly did not think it possible, and now was flustered at the idea of being as desirable as some of Bond’s past conquests. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed the food that Eve dropped off, thankful for the Indian spice aroma that was filling the air. On the top of the bag was a note, written in presumably the worker’s delicate handwriting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A man named Mr. James said this was for you. Enjoy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of dwelling on the food, he dug in, knowing he hadn’t eaten anything all day. It felt more significant now that he was privy to this new information. It felt far more romantic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He called Bond at promptly 1500, hearing it click over after a few seconds, opening the comms channel. “Can you hear me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. How have you been today, Q?” Bond asked, sounding practically jovial. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need I remind you that I am at the comms station in the middle of my branch, and that your words are being played aloud?” Q said, hoping that it would shut him up. He hoped that the implied threat came across the line; he was not going to tolerate the blatant flirting when he had an entire branch to listen in on the two of them. Already he had gained the attention of #3, #4, and #6, whose desks were closest to the comms station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I heard that you had lunch delivered today,” Bond said, wholly and completely knowledgeable of his own practices. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. It was quite delicious. I forgot to thank Moneypenny for the meal,” Q said, trying to divert some attention away from Bond and his downright flirting charm over the comms. “The status report, 007.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was scuffling of paper on the other side. “I have the mark, Antonio. He’s been caravaning about with a pretty blonde thing. She might have information,” Bond said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If it had been any other mission, any other agent, there would have been no question. The seduction of the mistress would have been a top priority so that she could potentially incriminate her bedmate. But, in this moment, he could hear an edge of hesitation to Bond’s voice. It was the same hesitation that he had always harbored, ever since Vesper, but it seemed more obvious to Q now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your mission objective is to retrieve information and dispose of him however you see fit,” Q said, making sure to keep his voice even and calm, as if he was instructing any other agent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How much information is needed? Would his laptop suffice?” Bond asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q hummed and pulled up the mission file. They wanted an elimination of the target after acquiring the information, but the information was not necessarily specifically named. “Investigate to see if that is the information most pertinent. If yes, then the laptop will suffice. Don’t forget to clean up after yourself,” Q said, pulling up his schedule. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clicked through screens, checking his own schedule with the double-oh operatives. He tried his best to lend his quick fingers and guidance to those who would need it most: #3 and #4 were the best at prep before and in the early stages of the mission, and he and R frequently split the cases depending on the severity of their requests. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(R hated having to listen to agents kill people, so Q tried to spare her feelings by assigning her to the lighter days of comms work. He knew that she was far more safe with 001, 004, and 005 because of their general use of firearms and their tactical plays. He had to take most of the rest due to their frequent close contact kills. He preferred to keep R for a long time considering replacing her would be annoying, and #3 was nowhere near ready assisting an agent in field.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have a timetable where you will have access to his computer?” Q asked, checking where he had meetings. He had to guide 002 through his own clean up tomorrow starting at 900, so Q had a small hope that Bond would take a few more days to complete his mission, if only to spare R from dealing with Bond. She hated him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A few days. By Sunday,” Bond said, sounding very sure of himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“R will take over your daily reports tomorrow and Friday,” Q said, quickly adding it to her schedule. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I will miss out on your voice?” Bond asked, sounding utterly cheeky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I said earlier, 007, we are in a public area of Q branch,” Q said, the professional. He was determined to brush off the flirting as best as he could, for revealing any aspect of his true feelings was likely to make its way through the grapevine and to people he had no interest in knowing his business. If he knew random things about those in Accounting and Cafeteria, his business was sure to make it to the furthest reaches of MI-6.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ever the professional,” Bond said. He could almost hear the smile of amusement in his voice, the way that he oozed satisfaction at Q’s stubbornness. He was the sort of person to take pure delight out of ruffling feathers or teasing someone incapable of teasing back. And, while Q would have preferred to flirt back with the same dry humor he always employed, he was not going to do so when he had three of his top staff sitting an arms length away. He would remember to take 007’s status reports as private calls from here on out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If that is all, 007,” Q said, attempting to end the conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It seems like you need a cup of tea to take the edge off,” Bond said, clearly trying to gently barb him into saying something regarding the gifts. Perhaps he was looking for a simple thank you, but that would be far too easy. He likely wanted to hear a visceral reaction from Q, maybe embarrassed stuttering or something of the like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I certainly have many flavors to choose from,” Q said politely. “Goodbye now,” Q said, shutting off the comms link without hearing anything back from Bond. He felt slightly satisfied at his own unwavering dedication to keeping mum about all of the gifts, but he could still see his staff looking at him moon eyed. #3 looked as if she was going to say something but thought better of it, swallowing her words and turning her attention back to her computer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you are so interested in my conversations with 007, then you all can write the accounting reports for his equipment,” Q said, looking down at his staff. He gave them his driest look, absolutely no amusement in his eyes. Under his cool gaze they stayed quiet, turning back to their work. They were on a level playing field age wise, with Q only a year or two older than most of his staff, but he was sure to instill some sort of fear in them. They all seemed to dislike paperwork and dealing with naughty double-ohs, which made those two things the most pliable threats. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closed out his own account on the comms desk and headed back to his office, back to his own paradise of Bond’s gifts and his own personalized computers. He had quite enough of both his agent and his staff for one day, and he had nearly five hours left of work to do for tomorrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(He did end up trying one of the new tea blends when most of the Q branch staff filed out around six. The tea was more heavily spiced than he usually took to, but it provided the right kick to keep him awake and finish up his emails and departmental approvals for the day. It was certainly something Q would have never personally bought, but he liked it all the same. He would have to commend Bond when he returned.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mission ops with 002 were a right disaster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With him cocking up his kill mission by letting the target escape, which resulted in a car chase through Plovdiv and not one, but two burning buildings, he was racking in the same amount of carnage and destruction that 007 usually made. It was unbelievable to have to guide 002 through the streets of Plovdiv on his way to kill some Russian expat, only to have him use his emergency explosive earwig to kill the man in a car. He was lucky that he needed med evac, otherwise Q would have left him to fend for himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated the burden of taking on all the difficult missions. It was not as if he was necessarily required to, but he was the most adept and, quite frankly, the only person in Q branch with enough guts to hear the pained double-oh’s over the comms, trying to hide how hurt they were. 002 certainly had a broken wrist, if not cuts and scrapes that would take more than a few days to heal. He was the sort of man with a level of pride to his work, and he would never have let on that he was hurting, but Q had heard the sickening crunch of his wrist when one of the thugs bent it back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of going about checking Bond's logs, or any of the other agents, Q went into his office and shut the door and blinds, ensuring his privacy. He put on one of the Coldplay CDs, lit a candle that he had found as some gift from Bond, and laid on the floor, not caring about wrinkling his trousers or ill fitting suit jacket. He needed time to relax and process the damage he was likely going to have to have a meeting about, and the poor 002 who was likely sitting in a hospital bed in medical right now, getting his arm realigned. He was lucky it was his left arm, because any damage to his right would mean an instant retirement. Double-ohs were no longer good if they could not squeeze a trigger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a short rap at the door, which meant that R was checking up on him. She was the only one who would bother interrupting him if he had the blinds pulled on his office. “Q, 007 is on the comms asking for you. He won’t get off, and he keeps disturbing the others,” R said, her voice sharp. She was easily annoyed by Bond’s antics. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Roger that,” Q called out, sighing. He quickly turned the music down and pressed his earpiece, clicking into the comms channel. “Bond, this better be bloody good,” Q said, closing his eyes against the world around him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a question about my mobile, but that can wait. Are you alright?” Bond asked, sounding genuinely concerned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You had a question about your mobile that R couldn’t answer,” Q said flatly, not particularly interested in Bond’s flirting tactics at this moment. He wanted several minutes to breath without the flair and charm of a double-oh agent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I was actually wondering if you could send blueprints of the hotel we are staying in to my mobile, and R refused, claiming I had tested her patience one too many times,” Bond said, his words coming calmly across the comms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was where Q and R started to have disagreements about how to handle agents. Q was far more likely to ply them with cyber supplies that they needed, while R was more likely to tell them to shut up and use the technology they had. She likely figured Bond could hack into the system at the hotel and find the blueprints, but Q knew better. The double-ohs were not particularly well versed in technology. It was why they needed Q branch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have #21 send them over tonight,” Q said, reaching for his tablet so he could ping #21. Instead of engaging in Bond’s typical banter, Q stayed silent, letting the soft chords of Coldplay fill his ears. He didn’t even particularly like Coldplay that much, but since Bond had given him the CD, he was going to listen to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re alright?” Bond asked softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“002 was a right twat today on his mission,” Q said, shaking his head. “Fucking asshole decided to pull a you and blow up a bunch of buildings and hurt himself in the process,” Q added, tightening his fists at his side. He sighed, trying to release the tension out of his body. “Bloody twat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Q, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you swear before,” Bond said, sounding slightly amused and concerned simultaneously. He made a noise on his end of the comms, as if he was searching for something. “I’m sure that 002 will be okay. He’s young and reckless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re old and reckless? As if that is any better?” Q asked, smacking his hands on the floor. He wanted to shout, to express any of his frustration at this particular aspect of his job. He wanted to throw all of the paperwork into his shredder, pretend as if he did not have double-oh agents ruining his life on the daily. He wanted to pretend like he didn’t care for their wellbeing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe an old dog can learn new tricks,” Bond said quietly, almost indecipherably. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do hope this old dog brings back his mobile and his gun this time around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did last time, didn’t I?” Bond said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q thought of the fact that he had truly brought back his equipment last time, without question and without any nagging from Q. While that might not be a trend of his, there was a small spark of hope that Q harbored that he would make it an ongoing trend. He was grateful that Bond could not see him right now, almost smiling over returned equipment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do bring yourself back in one piece, 007,” Q said, sitting up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I hearing concern in your voice?” Bond teased. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only for my equipment. You have yet to prove yourself trustworthy enough for anything particularly exciting, so don’t go getting ahead of yourself,” Q said, standing, the floor squeaking under his feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps a dinner, when I return. In order to gain your trust,” Bond said, his charm practically seeping through the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see about that,” Q said, sitting down at his desk. He noticed a small envelope with his name on it, his fake name, written in a crisp masculine writing. He opened it quickly, pulling out a tourist-y magnet with the word SPAIN on it. “And I see you still don’t know my real name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever to you mean,” Bond said, sounding as charming and chuffed as ever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As if my name was actually Quincy Quigly. My mother is far smarter than naming me something so atrocious,” Q said. He shook his head at the ugly magnet, unsure of where to even put it. Most of his work had sensitivity to magnets, making the gift completely unusable except for on his fridge at home. He was not even sure how to transport it there, considering he did not want to put it next to his computer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have absolutely no knowledge on your mother. Am I supposed to be aware of her manner?” Bond asked curiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is alive, you know. I do have a family I’m supposed to go home to for Christmas,” Q said. He started to pull up his work on his computer, already back in the mood to tackle the pile of paperwork that was accumulating. He tried hard not to think of the correlation between talking with Bond and his productivity. Frequently Bond incited more work, rather than aided him in his work. Perhaps he was having a Pavlovian response, where Bond’s voice acted as the stimulus and Q’s productivity as the conditioned response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have to stop by and pay your dear mother a visit. I would quite like to know where our darling little Q came from,” Bond said, sounding pleased with himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubt she will take any more kindly to your gifts than I do,” Q said. Right after he said it he made a face, completely annoyed at his own acknowledgement of their unsaid arrangement. Neither had mentioned the gifts prior to this moment, and if Q had his way, neither would again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet Bond lived to annoy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you have been getting my gifts. I thought maybe you were tossing them out,” Bond said. His voice was carefully controlled, void of any particular emotion. He was clearly trying to keep his own reaction separate from their current conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not tossing them out,” Q said, glancing over at the accumulating pile. “Although how you bribed my staff is beyond me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a few well placed words,” Bond said, sounding as smarmy as ever. And yet, Q found that alarmingly attractive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s own relationship with his attraction to Bond had become far less complicated as time passed. It used to be far more consuming, and now it was like a pot turned to simmer. He still lusted after him, and was inappropriately turned on by his competency with hand to hand combat, but he was no longer feeling the spikes of hot emotion at the mere sound of Bond’s voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He always attempted to deflect with coldness and anger, but it was a transparent act. His own emotions were not meant to be obvious, but with Bond’s expert skills, he was likely far more apparent in his feelings than he ever intended. Even this particular conversation, he felt as if his whole chest was laying cracked open, heart beating rapidly outside of his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t even imagine what his staff was thinking at this moment, with Q floundering under 007’s gifts and gaze. He had worked so hard to be respected, but he didn’t particularly feel as if he was earning it. He certainly wanted to prove his worth, prove that he was more than a schoolboy making toys and crushing on agents. At least, he thought he was worth more than that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please refrain from seducing my entire branch,” Q said, trying to sound absent, as if he was above the conversation. They were getting too deep, too close to his actual feelings. He had to separate, reduce, stretch away from the truth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only one that I truly want to seduce,” Bond muttered. His voice came through loud and clear on the comms, despite his low tone. Q ignored the zing that went up his spine at the mere thought of being seduced by Bond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for the cheer up, but I have to work,” Q said politely, a grin taking over his face, whether he liked it or not. He felt far too giddy at the results of this conversation, at the way the two of them danced around the subject without really saying it. He would rather not be the one to break, so he was not so quietly waiting for Bond to make the move. He wanted to be the charmed object of Bond’s seduction, even if it was a trite stereotype he probably shouldn’t want to fulfil. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you later, darling Q,” Bond said. He clicked off without saying anything else, leaving Q sitting at his desk with hours left of work and little to no brain to commit to it. Instead of sifting through files, he wanted to make something horrifically complicated for Bond. Perhaps a switchblade that had flaming capabilities. Or a collapsable sword. Something dramatic for the dramatically flamboyant agent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite his own sick desire to guide Bond through his mission, R had to take over due to an unforeseen meeting regarding network security. It was as if M ignored all of Q’s emails and instructional documents detailing exactly what happens during an attack or breach, and that either were highly unlikely. Instead of being down in Q branch with Bond and the new leather satchel that appeared at his desk this morning, Q was up on the top floor, answering questions regarding network security. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He genuinely could have sent any of his interns in his place, with the way that the questionnaire was going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard pings from his tablet but he tried not to look at it too intensely. They were only about a third of the way through the meeting when the pings started, and based off of how Q had left R in charge, this was likely regarding Bond’s mission. He tried glancing at the messages, but they were quickly replaced with another new message. R was not one to freak out, particularly since she did not like Bond very much and was not invested in his safety, so this alone was far more alarming than Q wanted to admit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, but I have to answer a call from my branch,” Q said politely, taking his tablet into the hallway with him. He clicked over to his channel with R, pulling up her messages. “What’s happening,” Q said flatly, trying to scan over her panicked messages from the last few minutes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bond has decided to go off book. None of the other agents have done this to me before,” R said, sounding flustered. She didn’t fluster or stumble easily, which meant that whatever was happening in the mission was not something out of the ordinary. Of course Bond would manage to pull something absolutely insane when Q was meant to be answering to those even higher up than him in governmental positions. He was practically walking some of these men through using a mobile productively when he had staff and agents that needed him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How far off book,” Q said flatly, tension filling his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Explosions and car chases bad,” R said, sounding far more stressed than her usual calm demeanor. Under her guise, agents did not frequently cause international disaster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q was far more used to having agents ruin his day. The tube incident with Silva comes to mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Send #17 up here to deal with corporate. Tell her it’s a technology Q and A with some older members of staff. I’ll be down in a few. Patch me through to Bond’s comms,” Q said, more intently looking at her messages. She had detailed his decision to capture and interrogate the subject rather than grab his laptop and kill him, which was a daring move on Bond’s part. He knew that Bond was not a fan of torture, so the thought of him inflicting it on someone else was confusing. He had blown up a small shop and stole a car to retrieve this target from fleeing, and essentially causing far more trouble than he was worth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is not good,” Q mumbled, pacing down the length of hallway, waiting for #17 to arrive. He could see the men inside of the conference room looking at him where he was in the hallway, but his matters were far more important than how to enter a secure password in their mobiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was already pinging his contacts regarding Interpol cleanup, and the fact that this was the second time that Q had to contact them in as many months was concerning. He was likely going to be chewed out by M later for letting a mission go to shite under his watch, despite being in a cracked up meeting to please other higher ups. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When #17 arrived Q practically ran down the hallway, shouting in passing as he headed for the stairs rather than the elevator. He knew he could run down six flights of stairs faster than the elevator, and he certainly did not want his feed to cut out on accident while he was inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a crackle in his earpiece and then Bond was on. He was humming a Coldplay song, which was disturbing to say the least. Q would like to think that he wasn’t thinking of him while torturing a suspect for information, but it appeared as if he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bond, finish your fucking mission,” Q said, sort of out of breath as he dashed down the stairs. He pushed through door after door, knowing that he was going to sweat in his one good button up shirt. He would have to dry clean it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m extracting the information that we agreed upon,” Bond said cleanly, detached. He sounded much different than his normal cadence. Rather than sounding as if he was full of mire, in the middle of a shit situation, he was sounding as if he was barely there mentally. It did not bode well for Q or the man sitting tied to a chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re scarring R with your sudden torture habits. Can we please move this along? Steal the laptop, kill the target. What about that is confusing you?” Q said, sounding irritated. He pushed into Q branch, everyone working quickly on their computers. R was still standing at the comms desk, but she was clearly shaken and not particularly interested in what was currently happening. She was a callous woman, but no one knew what to expect while listening to torture. It was not something that was taught in uni. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He destroyed the laptop,” Bond said dismissively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Destroyed it? Then bring back the pieces,” Q said, as if that was obvious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned it</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Bond said. The emphasis made his behavior far more clear: he had destroyed all of the intel that they were planning on retrieving, and now Bond had to improvise in order to get the same level of intel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m back in Q branch with access to a computer, so let’s get you through this, shall we?” Q said, trying to sound even the slightest bit optimistic about this particular turn of events. “You are on comms with me, silenced to the rest of the branch. If you take me out of your ear, you are getting no evac and I will burn every single one of the gifts you gave me. Have I made myself clear?” Q said sternly, taking command of the comms station. He waved R away, sending her and #3 to presumably recover from whatever had happened before he was put on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Roger that,” Bond said gruffly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have the rest of my team working on Interpol and cleanup after you. Now, I need to know exactly what you’ve done up to this point, and what sort of intel you’re expecting to get out of this target,” Q said, pulling up the files. He had the mark located: Antonio Beckett, 41, the head of a budding tech company in Austria. He had suspected relations to an organized crime group in Germany, using the monetary aspects and his particular electronic talents to cover for members of the gang. That was confirmed when they had deciphered his code two weeks ago, discovering a stolen art sale in the countryside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They wanted all of the information regarding organized crime. This was particularly sensitive information that was necessary for control and management. This was something wholly necessary for public safety. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q did some digging, his eyes flicking between screens as he attempted to hack into different interfaces, looking for any sort of information regarding the man, anything that could be used against him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The blonde was useless. I’ve utilized some standard procedures that I won’t detail to you here. He has said a few names, but they are all code names. Nothing concrete,” Bond said, sounding far away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you discussed his house in Wales?” Q asked, trying to scrape some sort of valuable information to hold over him. The house was publicly owned, but the majority of it’s details, including exact address, were hidden very carefully. Q glanced up, catching eyes with #6. “Six, come hack with me,” Q said quickly, nodding as if to pull her over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She immediately started in on the information hack, not even glancing twice at the other information that Q was attempting to bring up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have anything I don’t know?” Bond said, the sound of metal clanging down on a table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Six is working on that. She’ll have that done in five. What about his mother, who is still alive? I’m working on finding her address,” Q said, his fingers flying as he moved from screen to screen, fighting against the websites that were holding all of this pertinent and sensitive information. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the comms he heard a sick crunch as Bond’s fist presumably hit Antonio. “We have your mother. She sounds pretty when she screams,” Bond said, directing this towards Antonio. He heard the weak cries of the man, someone who was not used to torture, not prepared to keep his emotions in check and his brain detached from his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Antonio sobbed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need more to let you go,” Bond said. Instead of hearing a strike, he heard the release of breath from Antonio, moaning as if all of the air was knocked from his lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q wanted to squeeze his eyes shut to prevent himself from internalizing any of this, but he forged on. He could be tough, and he certainly was not going to let a bit of mild torture affect him. He had been through worse, through agents dying and having limbs blown off and having ribs broken and hearing men killed. He could work through a bit of torture for the sake of the Queen and the country. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. Trinity Sutcliffe. Alexander Yates. Marc Cohen. Connor Harvey. Dmitri Novikov. That’s all I can give,” Antonio said, his voice sounding thick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond seemed to pause at this, humming under his breath. “Good enough?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q had dutifully typed the names up, pulling #8 over to perform a quick search on them. “Thirty seconds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the line he could hear another smack as Bond’s hand struck the man, presumably across the face. Q had abandoned his research into Antonio to provide a quick scope for the other names. He immediately had pings for their names relating to recently deceased records, which meant that he had likely attempted to create untraceable records for his criminals. The names alone could give Q and his branch a few days of work and endless intel, and Q didn’t feel like bringing him back was very effective. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Men like him were likely only told a slice of the truth, and he gave up what he knew. He gave up his slice. Bringing him back to London was going to prove ineffective, and Q didn’t particularly feel as if housing him was a worthwhile use of their resources. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Check his body. A man like him has extra tucked into pockets or sewn into his jacket,” Q said, pushing off the research onto #8 and #6. They would take it for a report back to M, making at least part of Bond’s mission worthwhile.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a scuffling noise as Bond went through his pockets, grunting slightly as he pulled at the man’s body. Q was glad that he did not have camera access into the building and that he did not know about the shape of either of them. He could only imagine what Bond was like, how precise he was acting or detached he was about the torture. Q had seen the softness of Bond and the way that things like this would inevitably affect him. Even when he pretended as if he was as affable as one of the green Q branch agents or as impervious as bulletproof glass. He was a man who had emotions and feelings that he carefully buried underneath his charming exterior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a flash drive,” Bond said cooly, his words clipped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See if he’ll take you to his personal offices. If not, steal his keys and dispose of him,” Q said, closing his eyes as he said that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond was quiet for a moment, only the breathing coming through on the comms. “I’m going offline for one moment,” Bond said, cutting the comms line. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew it was to spare Q the final aspect of torture and disposal. The other agents were not so careful about protecting their handlers, which had left a few of Q’s higher ranking staff with psych evals and transfers to less stressful branches. It wasn’t a matter of not cutting it as a handler, it was a matter of having an overexposure to violence when unnecessary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q had become used to it quickly and had decided not to let it affect him. He was good at compartmentalizing, had done it since he was bullied as a child, and he was not about to let a few gunshots or screams of terror affect him. It was his job to be as unaffected as an agent appeared and only have breakdowns in his office. It was not the job of his branch to take on the burden of hearing lives stripped away from people. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The agents were death omens, and Q certainly did not want his branch knowing that they were the ones creating fate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond’s comms came back online, his breath coming harshly over the comms. “He’s got nothing left. I have his keys and I’ll check his office tonight. Signing off.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As quickly as he came back, he was gone again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about this left Q with an empty pit in his stomach, feeling unnerved at the way that Bond had become so detached. He wished he could reach out like they were uni friends, talking as if they were coworkers. But he was Q and Bond was 007. They were oceans apart, even with the gifts that trailed between them. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW Q directs Bond through torture during the last scene of the chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A New Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I heard through the grapevine that someone was moping in his office because a certain double-oh didn’t visit him,” Eve said, her voice sounding teasing. </p>
<p>On an average day, Q would have played into the tease. He would have been crisp and sharp and unforgiving, giving back as good as he got. Today was different. Today was a day of moping and being sad and hoping that perhaps Bond hadn’t forgotten him after all.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! Thank you for the support and comments so far! I hope you enjoy this last chapter!</p>
<p>This whole chapter took a lot of massaging and rewriting to get to a satisfactory point, and I'm still not totally happy about it. But I feel satisfied with this particular ending, so I hope y'all enjoy it as well. </p>
<p>Enjoy! Let me know what you think in the comments</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A few days later, Q heard whisperings that Bond had come through MI-6 at night, dropped his equipment off at Q branch to some poor staff member in the #70’s who was covering the night shift, and then left as quickly as he came. When Q had overheard #6 and #13 talking about this, he immediately went into his office, searching for another gift, a sign that maybe Bond had stopped by to give him something. After a few minutes, he realized that everything in his office was completely the same. There was nothing new. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had grown accustomed to the gifts cropping up that there was a slight twinge of disappointment at the thought of being forgotten, or merely left out. He had sketches of a gun with a grappling hook ready for Bond to look over when he stopped by. Those sketches were tucked into the leather bag that Bond had gifted, nestled next to a book that Bond had given him. Q had listened to one of the Coldplay CD’s during his first hour of the workday, and he had even lit the single candle that Bond had given him for a time. His entire life was imbued with Bond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holed up in his office for the rest of the day purely because he could. He did not have any double-oh’s in the field, and he was confident that R could handle the two lower level agents who were on retrieval missions. It was a welcomed break, considering the back to back missions that most of the double-oh’s had been on the past few weeks, but the timing was somehow less than ideal. He would rather not have an entire day to himself, purely for his own work and his own thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He caught up on his emails by lunch, and instead of heading out to the cafeteria or the break room for his food, he stayed in his office. He put on loud music, a playlist of American classic rock hits, something completely opposite of what he would normally listen to. He let the songs of Bon Jovi, Motley Crue, and Van Halen wash over him as he worked on approving changes to the mobile operating system and double checking his staff’s work. They were competent, but likely to make mistakes. Q was there to catch them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he exhausted himself with that, he wrote up and approved all of the mission reports from last week. He still had a cost analysis to prep and send off for completion, and an equipment assessment from the last few missions to sign off on. He could feel his eyes getting tired and he needed a cup of tea, but he didn’t particularly feel like leaving his office. He would rather not have his staff give him their knowing looks and whisper as if he wasn’t in the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard a soft knock on the door, and Q immediately paused his music. He listened hard for another knock, unsure of whether or not to open the door. He didn’t particularly want company, and planned on working until the night shift came in, but he supposed he could make an exception for the right person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Q, I know you’re in there,” Eve said, sounding impatient. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q pressed a few buttons on his computer, unlocking his office door. Eve pushed in immediately, swiftly closing it behind her. She looked stunning in green, impeccable from head to toe. She looked as if she worked at MI-6, and Q was merely her sloppy and disheveled roommate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Eve,” Q said, turning back to his computer. He fought through his tired eyes, pulling up another data report. He still needed to make his way to the labs to check in with his staff there, but he was starting to wilt underneath the pressures of the day and the knowledge that despite the pattern, 007 was ignoring him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard through the grapevine that someone was moping in his office because a certain double-oh didn’t visit him,” Eve said, her voice sounding teasing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On an average day, Q would have played into the tease. He would have been crisp and sharp and unforgiving, giving back as good as he got. Today was different. Today was a day of moping and being sad and hoping that perhaps Bond hadn’t forgotten him after all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So R tattled on me,” Q mumbled, shaking his head. He didn’t bother looking away from his computer, wanting to focus on his work. Or, at least, he wanted the appearance of focusing on his work. He was likely going to push most of this off on R so that he could go down to the labs and check on progress reports there. A man could only do so much tedious work at his desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She was concerned that you hadn’t even left your office for tea,” Eve said, crossing the room towards where the lone candle sat in the middle of a pile of trinkets, glowing softly. She leaned over and blew it out, the soft scent of it dissipating through the room. “I see that Bond’s gifts have come in handy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They certainly have,” Q said simply, sending off an email to R for her to sort through the last of the data analysis. That was more of her bag, considering her slightly more mathematical background. She could deal with the insufferable data collection from the staff. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t see you once, Q. So what? He’s a double-oh. He had issues, you know,” Eve said, her fingers trailing on the table. She picked up a mug, one that Bond had gotten him. It had a picture of grumpy cat on the side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had a point. Even if it felt far different than that simplistic take on it, she had a point. He had only failed to see him once, and had not prepared a gift for him. The expectation that Bond came with a gift was far too high of a precedent to be set, and perhaps Bond was starting to realize that. Maybe he was realizing the predicament of the routine gifts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t stop Q from having slightly hurt feelings over a complete lack of communication. His attraction towards Bond, previously on simmer on a back burner, was now starting to come to boil again with all of the attention that he was receiving. He could feel it bubbling in his chest, warming him through and through when he thought of the ways they talked to each other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was also the puzzle of reaching out to him without coming across as desperate or obsessive. He wanted to check in, offer his sympathies for Bond and the events of this current mission, but he was not entirely sure how to do that in a way that would reflect his true intentions. Every piece of communication between the two of them, flirting or not, had zero specific intentions of romance from Q’s perspective. While that would be nice, he would much rather preserve a friendship with him than act like a lovesick fool and jeopardize a growing friendship. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I care far more than you think about him,” Q said simply, shutting off his computer. “And perhaps I am overreacting slightly, but I am allowed to have emotional reactions that are not dampened by professionalism all the time, Moneypenny. Let me be a human for one day,” Q continued, keeping his head down as he started to pack his bag, the one Bond gave him, with the rest of the items he needed for the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you going?” Moneypenny asked, watching him as he put a few of Bond’s gifts and his laptop and tablet into the bag, nestling everything together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to check in with labs and then I am going home,” Q said sharply. He had tried not to let any of his irritation or tiredness come through, but he was starting to wane. “I am not as unmoved as everyone likes to think. I do need a level of personal processing time, and between Bond and the other agents I had a hard week with, I think I deserve some down time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all liked to think that he was some sort of robot. There was even a bet between some of his staff on whether or not he was a complex AI that was set to rule over them. But he had a hard week. Between 002’s mess, 008’s mildly disappointing mission, and 007’s sudden need to torture, his week had been rough. He had talked to Interpol more times than he wanted to, had to perform emergency erasure of hundreds of CCTV cameras, and had to talk to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>American government</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which was by far the worst aspect of his job. He had to listen to torture and 002 having his shoulder dislocated and getting stabbed three times, and he had little to no sleep before dealing with a bunch of high ranked officials who couldn’t use their mobiles to save his life. He was not a robot, and he was not unaffected by this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you need a visit to psych? I can add an appointment—” Eve started, trailing after him as he exited his office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q turned around quickly. “No, Moneypenny. I am taking the afternoon for a personal day, I am coming into work late tomorrow morning, and no one is going to question my own decisions about my life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spun and continued out of MI-6. He felt guilty about snapping at Eve, particularly because she didn’t deserve it. It was merely her job to check up on him and ensure that he was not working himself to death, and he snapped at her instead. He would send her a text later as an apology. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He really needed some wine and some shit tv so that he could wind down. Perhaps he would draw a bath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Q got home he sent two texts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Moneypenny: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry for being a right bastard. I owe you lunch. Please do not contact me before 9am tomorrow. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Bond: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I was getting quite used to seeing you in Q branch.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second text he regretted the moment he sent it, knowing he sounded desperate and wanting. He had worked so carefully to attempt to hide that aspect of his life, of his crush, but he had failed to keep it under wraps entirely. He had his entire branch making comments about Bond, and the pile of gifts to prove that there was something more than a casual friendship between colleagues. If only Q had the guts to do more than send a relatively ill timed text. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moneypenny sent back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell him already</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which did not bode well for Q’s anxiety regarding Bond. He was the only man in his life that made Q feel both anxious and calm, settled in his bones yet disturbed to the fullest degree. The man was a walking contradiction, and while Q thought that his affections were being kept mum, he was gravely mistaken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of being a mature adult about this situation, Q placed his mobile in the back of his closet, silencing it so that he could not hear any of the notifications that would pop up. It was the only way that he could focus on his work and make progress on the many tasks he was getting emailed about. He had to force the idea of Bond out of his mind, focus purely on the tasks at hand. Without his mobile and the presence of his staff, Q was able to force himself into a steady and focused mindset. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barely noticed when his entire flat had gone dark, the only illumination from his laptop screen. He glanced at the time, glad to see that he worked through dinner and had put in nearly 4 hours of solid work without interruption. His goal was to work, and he did as much. His reward was ordering takeout from his favorite Indian place down the block, the one that would deliver to Q the fastest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had a hard week. He needed the treat of a good, warm meal and a bit of shit tv. Despite his wonderful schedule that brought him in orbit with a certain double-oh, he also needed to have an established life that didn’t involve fawning over 007 and creating specialized gadgets fueled by his simmering crush. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the doorbell rang, Q didn’t particularly think much about answering the door. He was wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms that were a little too long, pooling over his socked feet. He had on a loose jumper from his college days, a hole in the arm where he had burned through the fabric with a clumsy prototype. It was the sort of clothes that he wore to be comfortable at home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened the door to a Mr. James Bond, holding his takeaway bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How am I not surprised,” Q said, his arms dropping limply by his sides. He could feel the sleeves of his jumper slip over his hands, the soft fabric drooping as he was standing there, facing an impeccably dressed Bond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Finding your place was far easier than I anticipated,” Bond said, holding up the food as if it were a peace offering. “I bought your takeaway, yet you can’t let me inside?” Bond murmured, glancing behind Q and into his flat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q stepped back from the door, letting Bond past him and into his flat. He closed the door and alarmed the security system, ensuring that he was protected for the night. Not that he would particularly need an alarm system with a double-oh in his flat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched as Bond dropped the bag of takeaway on the counter on his path through the entire space. He was stopping at windows and doors, his eyes raking over the space in a calculating way. To anyone else it would look like focused curiosity, but Q recognized it as clearing the place of danger, the way that Bond frequently did in any new space. He trusted Q enough to show up here, but still didn’t trust the outside world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you quite done?” Q asked, pouring himself a glass of water. He set the glass on the counter, peering at where Bond was in his bathroom, examining the small window above the toilet as if some sort of spy intruder could squeeze their body through the space merely centimeters high. “You’re welcome to some of my food,” Q added, readying himself a plate of curry and rice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ignored Bond as he took his plate in front of the tv, setting his glass down and balancing his plate on his lap. He flipped channels through to a rerun of Countdown, smiling at the sight of Richard Ayoade. His presence meant a good, dry witted and entertaining episode worthy of Q’s attention. The pedantic banter was enough to distract Q through the first few minutes of the episode. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until Bond sat down heavily next to him, his own plate held carefully in his hands, that Q had realized this: they were eating dinner together. It may have been close to 9pm, and they may have had their respective tough last few days, but they were doing something as boring and normal as having dinner and watching Countdown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like trivia?” Bond asked gruffly, frowning at the screen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Puts my brain to use,” Q said, shrugging. He busied himself with eating to ensure that he would not have to keep up with the small talk. He knew how to talk to Bond when they were in a professional setting, and while he wasn’t particularly nervous at this moment, he wasn’t quite sure what sort of conversational partner Bond was when they weren’t flirting at work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them were not necessarily normal people, and to act as if their lives were as mundane as they currently were was a farce. Their lives were filled with danger and adrenaline, and while Q frequently thrived off of those things, he also had these moments of life that resembled what he was like before. MI-6 had a tendency to wrap every single one of it’s staff into a vortex, with everyone burying their nose into their work and not looking up until their life was warped beyond belief. Q used to get home from uni and throw his bag down on the floor, sometimes forgetting to lock his front door. Now, he had at least three forms of identification in order to enter his flat, and a complex code to secure it again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trying not to overanalyze and dissect the changes in his life, Q stood to take his plate back into the kitchen. Wordlessly he collected Bond’s clean plate, carrying them both to place into his sink. He would normally wash his dishes right away, but with company, it seemed rude. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This a typical night for you?” Bond asked, glancing between Q and the tv. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not usually. I stay at MI-6 more frequently than you would think to finish my work. Or work on a new gadget for one of the agents. The exploding watches seem to be a hit, and I’m afraid it’s beginning to suck up much of my time,” Q said, shrugging as he walked back across the room, sitting heavily into his couch. “Worked from home this afternoon,” Q added, as if that was explanatory of anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced at Bond’s profile, realizing now that he had marks across his face. They were not visible from afar, but the green bruising around his eye socket and underneath his jaw was more visible up close. They were marks of a mission, of one that became far more physical than it was necessarily intending to be. He knew that the marks extended under the collar of Bond’s expensive suit, and likely included things more painful than a few bruises. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q thought for a moment, about the events that lead up to this moment. He thought about the gifts, about the presence of Bond in Q branch, about their conversations, about the fact that Bond had shown up at Q’s flat. He thought about the way that Bond looked at him, as if he was a puzzle to solve. He thought about the way he ignored the signs, trying to keep to his own professionalism and disallow Bond from breaking down any of his walls. He thought of Moneypenny and her insistence that there was something to cultivate between the two of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought about the fact that they knew each other’s jobs, and they would never feel obligated to hide secrets from each other. Or have to cover their own asses because of their work situations. He thought about dating anyone else and having to explain why he was crafting a prototype of a rappelling gun in his spare time. They were both sucked into the vortex. There was no normalcy for either of them, not anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of thinking about the long term consequences, Q was going to be a little bit selfish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q swung his leg up and over Bond’s lap, settling so that he was sitting in Bond’s immaculate lap. He reached up and wrapped both hands around Bond’s neck, watching his face carefully as he adjusted himself into Bond’s grip, shifting into his lap fully. He could feel the way that Bond’s hands came up to his hips, barely gripping him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Q?” Bond asked, trying not to let surprise stain his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Q said, dipping down to kiss him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pressed his lips against Bond’s softly, not necessarily expecting an immense response. He kissed him softly, as if asking for consent for more than the simple press of lips together. He felt the way that Bond kissed him back instinctually, the way that he was working on a force of habit. Instead of cranking the heat up, Q continued to kiss him softly, letting his fingers trail through the short hairs at the nape of his neck gently. He was kissing him for intimacy, not for sex or any other end result. He was kissing him because he could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Bond tried to surge up, press his fingers into Q’s hips to turn their embrace passionate, Q was careful not to rise to the occasion. He was attempting to be considerate in regards to Bond’s necessary use of sex as a tool. He was aware of what sort of unhealthy relationships and attachments could be developed, and he was careful to reassure Bond over and over of his own dedication to intimacy rather than passion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled back from Bond, sitting back to give a bit of space between them. He wanted to give Bond the option to pull away and reject him. In the world of espionage, it was not frequently that saying no to sex was an option, and Q wanted to respect all of Bond’s boundaries. He had clues from the agent that made him guess the status of their interactions, but simultaneously he wanted to give him an escape hatch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Darling,” Bond murmured, his hands slipping underneath his jumper, cold on Q’s warm skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck was up with the presents? A way of marking your territory?” Q asked, his thumb stroking along Bond’s cheekbone, doing so because he was allowed to. He shifted in Bond’s lap, trying to ignore the growing heat that pooled in his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Bond said, twisting his head to nip at Q’s fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do know that everyone in Q branch, and likely everyone attached to Eve’s gossip mill, has an inclination of both of our feelings,” Q said, brushing back Bond’s hair. He was gentle, letting his hands trail around the curve of his ear. He looked into the clear blue eyes, the ones that had captured his soul so long ago. The same eyes that made Q feel far more like a romantic than a realist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still talking?” Bond asked, shifting his hips into Q’s under the guise of adjusting his position. His hands tightened on Q’s hips, lifting him slightly, showing off his strength in a way that had Q breathing a little harder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will eventually have to discuss this,” Q said, trailing his fingers along the back of Bond’s neck, eyes watching him carefully. “I’m not sure how pestering and gift giving makes up for any of the stress you have put me through, and yet here I am,” Q added, shaking his head slightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Darling. Here you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Bond emphasized, pulling Q flush to him. He leaned up and kissed him hungrily, his hands stroking irresistible circles onto Q’s bare skin. The calloused hands were such a contrast to the softness of his skin, unmarred by external forces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t have to do anything, not if you’re still recovering—” Q started, attempting to be as courteous and gracious as he was towards any other healing agent. Even if Bond didn’t need to physically heal, he needed to mentally heal from his mission. That was something that he tended to forget about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond cut him off with a kiss, quickly taking control as he pushed up into Q, his hands pushing on his hips. He was moving with a practice and precision that displayed his talents of seduction quite obviously. He had Q grabbing at his shoulders and gasping into his mouth, pushing his body into Bond and melting into their embrace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Q said, breaking away for a breath. He lavished in the way that Bond’s lips trailed down his shoulder, shoving his jumper away to nip at his collarbones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the idea,” Bond murmured into his skin, being annoyingly witty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q gripped his shoulders, trying to push him off. “You can’t seriously think that’s charming,” Q said, trying to inch space between them to strip off his jumper. He managed to hold off Bond’s nips for a moment, tossing his jumper off to the other side of his flat, trying not to think about his pale and lithe body on top of Bond’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of continuing to kiss him, Bond’s fingers trailed up his sides slowly, feeling the heat of his skin. His fingers touched the scar on his side, his brow furrowing as he traced the pink and puffed skin along the side of Q’s ribs. He glanced up at Q’s face in question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rock climbing with Luke Evans,” Q said, trying not to squirm under Bond’s attention. It was far easier to ignore the charm and looks when Q was surrounded by his staff. Now, with his intentions clear and their current proximity, Q was having a hard time not fawning and giving in to his simmering crush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Luke Evans?” Bond asked, pulling his head back. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The </span>
  </em>
  <span>Luke Evans?” Bond asked, looking back to the scar on his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We met when I was doing tech on one of his shows in the West End,” Q said, grabbing Bond’s wrist and directing his hand away from the scar. “It was during Uni. He took me rock climbing a few times since he liked it, but I was quite dreadful. I fell and got hurt once, and we broke up soon after. Apparently that was a dealbreaker,” Q explained, trying to direct Bond’s hands towards other aspects of his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t like the scar much. It was a mar on his skin, one that he didn’t particularly feel like fit him. He got it on a miserable trip with a man who was incredible sexually, but quite a bore otherwise. Q didn’t like musicals all that much, and he certainly did not like many of the outdoorsy activities that he was swept away on. To him, it was simply another man who had been utterly unfulfilling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How many celebrities have you dated?” Bond asked, his hand trailing down, resting on his waistband. He looked amused at Q’s dating history, filled with luxury and mystery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did have a fling with Benedict Cumberbatch, since we went to the same private school, but it was merely a fling. People did not appreciate flamboyancy there,” Q said, looking off to the side wistfully. “But mostly I’ve had a very average dating life. A few tech CEOs, a handful of baristas. Nothing particularly of interest recently,” Q said, sliding his hand to cup the side of Bond’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing interesting?” Bond murmured, wrapping both arms around Q tightly. One hand slid under his butt, gripping him with strong hands and even stronger arms. Before he could protest, Bond lifted him into the air, walking with him out of his living room and down the hallway to his bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Q wanted to protest and claim he was totally unaffected by the entire scenario, he was thoroughly and utterly turned on. He wanted Bond to throw him against the wall and have him, take him completely. That was not something he trusted with his average lover. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>Bond dropped him onto his bed, taking the moment of separation to strip off his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons and pulling it from where it was tucked into his trousers. He unzipped his trousers, leering at Q in a way that was absolutely obscene. He stripped out of his trousers, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs that were sinfully tight. His body looked as good as Q had always imagined it, only having seen glimpses of it over CCTV or when he was working out. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on then,” Q said, trying to come off as snarky but ending up rather desperate. He sat up to pull at Bond’s torso, leaning up to kiss him again. It was something that Q could find himself never getting used to, the way that Bond kissed him as if he was both precious and as if he was desperate for it. When Bond kissed him, he felt as if his own desperation was reflected back into him. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>Bond pushed his own underwear down, pushing at Q’s bottoms. Instead of breaking the kiss, Q lifted his hips and slid his own bottoms off, moving up his bed and pulling Bond along with him. He wanted to feel him pressed against him, with nothing between them. It was Q’s turn to run his fingers along Bond’s scars, feeling the bullet wound from when Eve shot him and the small mark on his chest where he was stabbed three months ago and the burn mark that Q knew was on his left hip from the time he had narrowly escaped a burning building. These were things far more interesting than Q’s measly rock climbing story, marks that were worthy of entire novels. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Lovely,” Bond murmured, grinning at Q’s pliancy below him. He positioned them together, Their cocks lined up and their bodies touching nearly from head to toe. Bond kissed behind Q’s ear before kissing his mouth again, one hand trailing down Q’s bare side. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>Q let the kiss get heated, turn passionate. They were working their way towards the ending that they both wanted, and while Q would gladly lay and kiss until his mouth was tired, he couldn’t ignore the way he was hard and pressed against Bond’s hard length. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“You absolute—” Q said, breaking away from their kiss. He gripped at Bond’s shoulder, feeling the small thrusts that Bond was doing, the friction deliciously hot. He wanted him to move faster, more, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>“You are coming undone,” Bond murmured, reaching between them to wrap a hand around both of their cocks. He started to stroke the both of them, panting as he dipped to kiss Q's bared throat. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“When I get a chance—” Q said, thrusting up into Bond’s hand, “—I am going to make you forget your name.”</span>
</p>
<p> <span>“I have no doubt,” Bond said, starting to pick up the pace of his strokes. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>It only took a few more moments of their bodies, pressed together and moving synchronously, for Q to come. Only a few more strokes and Bond was coming as well, making a mess of Q’s torso. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond dropped next to Q, their legs still tangled and their bodies still touching as much as possible given their positions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only thought running through Q’s brain was the fact that he never wanted this particular moment to end. He wanted to lay here, his legs tangled with Bond’s and his heart wide open to the sky. He wanted to feel his crush, his love, go from a simmer to a full on boil, boiling over onto those around him. He wanted so much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Q woke, feeling particularly clean despite the results of last night’s activities, he was immediately consumed with one thought: what if Bond regretted it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q was quite used to people coming to their senses after having sex with him. It had happened on at least 3 occasions that Q could think of, and frequently he had partners who had expressed a regret in their grand break up speeches. If Q had to chart the words that previous lovers had said to him when making an excuse for never seeing him again, he was confident that words of condolence or regret would chart highly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This particular thought was emphasized by the fact that his bed was empty and cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought was then deemphasized by the presence of Bond’s clothes at the end of his bed, folded gently and draped over his bed frame. Which meant that Bond was somewhere in his flat, doing who knows what and snooping where he wasn’t meant to be. Not that Q had much to hide, considering that a majority of his life was at MI-6, and what was left here was artifacts of a life that Q had abandoned. But he had a few treasures here, things from his mother and old partners. A few things from Bond that he perhaps shouldn’t have. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q pulled on a t-shirt and pair of bottoms from his drawers, pushing his glasses onto his face sleepily. He pushed his hair up and away from his eyes, but it was particularly unruly now that he had sex and sweated. He really needed a haircut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wandered out into the main portion of his flat, glad to see that Bond was standing at the stove, only in his pants. They were ridiculously tight around his ass, leaving very little to Q’s imagination and perhaps fueling Q’s libido for months. Even if this was their last relation, Q would still have the memories to last him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“James,” Q said, walking up towards him. He saddled up to Bond’s side, watching him stirring a pan of eggs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say that again,” Bond said, his spatula pausing. He glanced over his shoulder at the proximity of Q’s face, at the way they were now sharing body heat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“James,” Q repeated dutifully, tipping his head forward until his forehead touched Bond’s bare shoulder. He wanted to do more, but he was unsure of exactly how Bond felt about casual intimacy. He did not want to cross some boundary, only to have Bond’s general agreeableness having him tolerate something he was not enjoying. Q was well aware of the fact that a majority of Bond’s relationships had functioned on him pleasing his partner, figuring out what made them tick and then becoming the very thing to fill that space. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q wanted to love Bond for the man he saw in Q branch, for the man who teased Eve or blatantly flirted with his staff. He wanted to love the man who trained his hardest but still had time to joke with the other double-ohs. The man that had been reluctant for group therapy, but had now ensured that every double-oh show up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love when you say my name,” Bond murmured, reaching behind him to wrap an arm around Q’s torso. He pulled Q flush to his side, dropping the spatula and sliding the pan off of the hot stove. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“James,” Q said again, burrowing into Bond’s side now that he had permission. He liked the warmth of Bond in the morning, the way that he had woken up early to make breakfast instead of sneaking out or waiting for Q to make breakfast. He liked a man of action, one who wanted to show he cared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to make you breakfast,” Bond said, his hand sliding around Q’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing against him distractingly. “Figured it was something romantic you’d like,” Bond added quietly, turning to press a kiss onto the top of Q’s head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Romantic?” Q teased, pinching at Bond’s side. “Didn’t realize you knew romance outside of a dimly lit restaurant and thousand pound champagne.” He pulled away from Bond, grabbing out orange juice from his fridge. “Tea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond shook his head. “Thought we could stop off for a coffee later,” Bond said, turning off the heat on the stove. He plated up the food quickly, dividing things evenly. He did so in a neat manner, leaving room for the sausage he had off to the side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No toast?” Q asked, taking the plate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have any bread,” Bond said, knocking elbows with him. They stood side by side, leaning against the counter and eating quietly. The intimacy of the moment, of standing so close, was  not lost on either of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fact that Q had to go into work was something both tediously annoying and unavoidable. He had already taken the afternoon off the day before, and without prior departmental approval, he could not kip off for a few days because he felt like it. He had agents in missions and general things to oversee on top of his own coding and engineering work that he was brushing up on. He was not planning on letting the entire branch slack off in his absence, so an absence was impossible to take. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coming into MI-6 today?” Q asked, taking a sip of his juice. He watched Bond’s profile, eyes scanning the face he had already memorized. He quite enjoyed the slope of his nose and the way that his lips protruded a little more than would be traditionally handsome. He liked the cut of his jaw and the curve of his brow bone. These particular pieces looked magnificent together, and Q certainty was not going to complain about Bond’s lovely looks. He wanted to map his features, analyze them and come up with a new version of the mathematically perfect face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No plans on it,” Bond said, setting his empty plate down. “I assume you have work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unfortunately,” Q said, half shrugging. “But I will not be opposed to you dropping by, or perhaps testing some of the new ballistics in the labs,” Q added, knocking elbows with Bond as he set his own plate down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond caught his arm and pulled him into a kiss. It felt reassuring, the press of lips because they could, not because they were desperate for it. He wanted to relish this moment, the curve of Bond’s hand around his arm and the warmth of Bond against him. It was a moment that he never thought he would be able to fully and thoroughly enjoy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Bond pulled away, Q felt a little dazed by the moment. Not because of the heat or the passion, but because of the tenderness that Bond used with him. It made him feel entirely more special than any of Bond’s other conquests, knowing that he got a kiss after breakfast with the knowledge that there would be more in the future. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll cook dinner tonight. We can talk then,” Bond said, hand slipping down to Q’s waist. He gave a squeeze before releasing him, turning back towards the sink. Instead of saying more he started to wash the dishes, presumably leaving Q to get ready for work on his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he would have been far more distracted at work considering the proposal of Bond and the fact that he left him shirtless in his flat, but Q felt absolutely fine. In relative terms, of course. He couldn’t help but acknowledge the lightness in his heart or the fact that the simmering thoughts of Bond were now fully cooked, ready to be served. Or whatever the continuation of that particular metaphor would result in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got a few looks from his staff when he walked in at 9am sharp, but he headed to his office to deal with some of the actual paperwork sitting on his desk. Despite living in a technology age, there was a certain cling to physical copies, and Q’s own signature was required far more than he liked it to be. His signature was not easily replicated, purely based off of his own handwriting and the specific pressure he put onto his perfect scribble of a Q, but he felt as if his staff might attempt to copy it one day, if only to have their Quartermaster free of paper chains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was humming along to the soft piano music he had put on (it was some Emily Sande song stripped of lyrics, and it certainly was not a guilty pleasure) when Eve walked in. Her soft chiffon dress swung around her knees, and the clicking of her heels was lighter than usual. Perhaps a different shoe, or a different heel type. Q wanted to analyze the sound of her walking in heels if merely to perfect an AI that scanned sounds through the agent’s comms. Perhaps he could get a better grip of female personage with some sort of sound identification tool. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not Coldplay,” Eve commented, gesturing towards his laptop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only because I took the CD’s home. Hopefully Bond will get the hint that I do not need yet another Coldplay CD,” Q said, not looking up from where he was scanning the documentation he was signing. It was another form for budgetary issues, and while he knew that R had looked over it, he couldn’t help but scan it again to make sure M wasn’t sneaking in a policy about spending. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem to be in a better mood,” Eve pointed out, running her hand over the signed paperwork. “Back to your usual self.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dry and humorless?” Q asked, signing the paper, sliding the stack over. He didn’t bother glancing up at Eve, already predicting what sort of face she was making, and what sort of reaction she was going to have. She was likely going to smile her sweet smile and tap her fingernails along the papers, saying something regarding him being absolutely hilarious. He ought to create a Eve AI, if merely to prove that she is as predictable as she thinks he is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re very funny, Q,” Eve said, letting her fingernails scrape against the paperwork as she picked it up. “I take it that you either told Bond, and it went well, or you somehow managed to kill him to satisfy your need for blood,” Eve said, stacking the paperwork up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, now who’s being the funny one now,” Q said, glancing at the last stack of papers. He skimmed it for any important key words before signing it, dropping it into Eve’s awaiting arms. “Do remember to shut the door on your way out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eve smiled at him smoothing her free hand down her dress. “Whatever you did, I hope that it lasts. This Q is my favorite: perfectly pedantic and dry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally, one would react to being called “pedantic” in a negative way, but out of Eve’s mouth, it was a compliment. He was quite pedantic, if he did say so himself, considering his line of work and the particulars of being a Quartermaster overseeing the entire tech department. If he didn’t live his life with a fine tooth comb and proving himself over and over that he was a capable man, he would not have the wide success that he currently has. Perhaps he would not have the things that he currently had, like a certain double-oh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried not to think too hard about the fact that one night of sex with a man he was hopelessly in love with changed his demeanor in a noticeable way. He would have hoped that nothing had changed, and perhaps this life altering attraction he had been harboring was not as extravagant as he originally thought. Under Eve’s observations, he found himself unsure of his own status and appearance. He typically found himself to be entirely uneventful and unassuming, and yet he had a high ranking government job and a string of relationships that were far more than normal, as Eve and Bond are gracefully pointing out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q had wanted to exceed all of Bond’s expectations of him, prove that he was perfectly acceptable as a partner. He feared that he may have put the shoe on the other foot; Bond may feel a pressure to live up to the expectations of Q’s previous lovers, people that were so boringly perfect that he couldn’t bother with them for longer than he already did. He wanted Bond to know that his own aching heart, the one that had lead him this far, was not one comparing Bond to previous conquests but rather creating an entirely new system meant purely for him. Why would he compare Bond to Alfonso or Luke or even Steven when he was bloody James Bond?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He refocused on his computer, checking through the bug reports on the CCTV program he had built, double checking that his face recognition was not exhibiting signs of racism. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q barely noticed the sound of his office door, and he certainly didn’t notice Bond had strolled in until a tea and a sandwich were placed on his left side at his computer. “Thanks,” Q said absently, finishing a line of code. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither me or the food distracts you?” Bond asked, his voice gravelly and close to Q’s ear. He could feel the slight bit of breath with every one of Bond’s words, and he had to suppress a shiver at the sensation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some of us have work to do,” Q said, pushing his keyboard aside, turning to glance at Bond. His face was close, only a breath away, and Q darted in quick for a kiss. He pulled away, unsure if that was acceptable, or if Bond even still agreed with their decision making from the night before. It felt as if a thousand thoughts moved through Q’s brain while he stared at Bond, the piercing blue of his eyes and the soft stubble on his cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond dipped in and kissed him again, more firmly. It was a proper kiss, the kind that Q had sort of always wanted to receive at work. He could feel the bit of longing and the comfortableness of a hello. He both wanted to pull Bond in hungrily for more and push him away so that they could politely hold hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I rarely see you unshaven,” Q said, pulling back, resting a hand on Bond’s cheek. He swiped his thumb over the stubble, searching Bond’s eyes for some sort of discomfort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bond caught his arm under his elbow, straightening and pulling Q to a stand. “The only razor in your flat was surprisingly dull and cheap,” Bond said, his hand warm where it touched Q’s elbow. He could feel the warmth through his shirt and sweater. There was something comforting about the touch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did promise you ballistics, yes?” Q said, raising his eyebrows at Bond in question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unless you wanted to chat,” Bond said. There was no particular inflection in his voice, but Q could see through that guise. There was no possible way to be comfortable discussing whatever was going on between them in MI-6, and neither would ever give any inclination of their own sexual status to those they worked with unless extremely necessary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want you to test out some guns for the rapel gun that I’m working on. I need to know which would be the best weight and grip,” Q said, snagging his fresh cup of tea from his desk. He started out of his office, pausing at the door so that he could lock it. “Do keep up,” Q said dryly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I like the view?” Bond murmured as he passed Q, taking the lead with long, confident strides. He was wearing a new suit, different from yesterday so he must have stopped off at whatever residence he currently was haunting. The suit was a dark green, a stark difference from Bond’s usual suits, but cut cleanly and tailored perfectly nonetheless. If anything, Q was enjoying the view far more than Bond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do wait a moment,” Q said as they approached the depths of the labs. He crossed to a locked metal cabinet, pulling his badge to the door. A soft click and it swung open, revealing a tray with various prototypes on it. Q brought the tray up, kicking the door shut behind him. Setting the tray down on a metal table, he watched Bond’s initial reactions to the guns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a standard Walther, the piece that Q knew Bond liked the most. No matter how he configured it, the sort of rappelling device he wanted to attach into the gun would not fit neatly into the existing Walther. Not with the palm coded technology that Q had painstakingly worked on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too small?” Bond asked inquisitively, gesturing towards the unchanged Walther. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not large enough for both a rappelling kit and your palm coding tech, I’m afraid,” Q said, letting his fingers trail idly over the clean gun. “I am considering some sort of poisonous bullets, if that is of interest,” Q said, tapping the Walther. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Glock 19?” Bond asked, picking up the gun. He examined it, feeling the weight in his palms. He lifted it as if to shoot, his hands adjusting on the grip. “It’s a tad bit heavy for no clip,” Bond added, glancing at the butt of the gun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s going to be slightly heavy to do what it needs to do,” Q said, making a face at the added weight. In order to have a successful rappelling device, he needed the cord to be at least 10 meters, and it was difficult to fit that into any standard gun without affecting weight and composition. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you considered a simple garrote wire?” Bond asked, setting the gun down carefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, but what is the fun in that?” Q asked, shaking his head. “Perhaps a garrote watch would be best for you lot,” Q said, his brain already thinking of prototypes and potentially good uses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything for us to not toss our equipment,” Bond said, glancing at the other guns with a slight bit of wistfulness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you have ulterior motives for returning gear now, 007,” Q said, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. He pulled the top of the tray off to reveal a second layer of guns underneath, ones that were more pet projects than anything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Naughty Quartermaster,” Bond muttered quietly, his eyes trained on the guns instead of Q’s face. Even then, he could see the quirk of his lips, the small signs of amusement. He spared one glance at Q, a look that was proposing Q drop his work so they could shag in a broom closet. And while that sounded like the sort of fun that Q was frequently looking for, he was not going to jeopardize their new relationship and his job for a quick fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, here are some that you can try out,” Q said, gesturing towards the three in front of him. He gestured towards the sleek black Walther PPK first, the gun as unassuming as Bond’s previous. “I’ve updated the palm grip to not only shoot only with your hands, but deliver a painful shock to any unmatching palm,” Q said, careful not to touch the Walther whatsoever. He had been on the receiving end of a few shocks when he was creating it, and he certainly was not going to shock himself again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cheeky,” Bond said, grabbing the gun. “The others?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Silenced without a silencer,” Q said, gesturing towards the larger Walther P99. “And a considerably lighter gun. Nothing particularly special about it,” Q said, gesturing towards the lighter gray Walther P99. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This a pet project of yours?” Bond asked, glancing up at Q through his lashes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only for you,” Q said, both dryly and full of truth. He would not go through this particular effort with any other agent, and he had no plans to start giving special treatment to any other agent under his watch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I assume you would like some sort of data from this,” Bond said, picking up the PPK to feel it’s weight. He flipped it around in his hand, as if determining how much the added weight would affect him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll send #17 down to the ballistics range for data collection,” Q said, tapping his phone a few times to summon her. “Please do not charm her. She is already hopelessly in love with you,” Q added, giving Bond a certain look. He was not attempting to convey any sort of information about himself, but he couldn’t help but feel as if he was admitting his very own affections for the man. That was not necessarily his intention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure that a little flirting will not hurt her poor sensibilities,” Bond said, smiling at Q. “And not that it should worry you, but I’ve found my interests have become quite singular lately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words were enough to have Q’s heart jump, but he was careful not to let any of that show on his exterior, lest Bond grow an even larger ego than he already had. Instead of allowing his face to react, he let his hand draw along Bond’s waist as he walked by him, heading out of the labs. He wanted to turn back, see Bond’s response, but the teasing was enough. He knew the teasing would be enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q wanted to say that they had a discussion about the two of them that night. Or the night after. Or the following week. Or perhaps even in the month after their original tryst. But, as Q could have predicted from his own desire for Bond, and the presumed desire that Bond held for Q, they barely made it out of the bedroom when they were alone together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A typical night in the following weeks went a little something like this:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Bond was home and not on a mission, Q would try and make it back by 7pm for a bit of dinner and telly. If they could hold out long enough for a quiet conversation about their general interests, they would talk for a bit after dinner. If not, they would start tearing off their clothes before they made it into Q’s bedroom. Depending on how rambunctious round 1 was, they either slept or had round 2 in the shower for efficiency. In the morning was almost always a quickie followed by Bond making breakfast for Q before he went into MI-6 at 8am sharp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q was not complaining. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had not been thoroughly shagged in a while, and he certainly had not been so thoroughly shagged on the daily in his life. Every time felt as good as it always had, and Bond somehow managed to find new ways to make Q writhe and shake underneath him every time they had sex. Q had achingly tried to repay the favor, but based off of Bond’s own quickness in coming, he was certain that Bond was also enjoying himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first time that Q had even thought about discussing what their relationship was nearly three months after they started sleeping and cohabiting together. Q was guiding Bond through a mission in South America to find and assassinate a drug lord who had been using boats to pedal drugs worldwide. On paper it was a honeypot mission, and while Q was almost unbothered by them (he was human, and seeing his lover with someone else was always a little strange), Bond had yet to seduce the woman they were suspecting had close ties with the drug lord. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were at a bar together, Bond dressed impeccably and as charming as ever. When she reached over to touch his hand, perhaps invite him to her room, he smiled in a friendly way rather than a seductive way. The cameras in the place barely caught the look on his face, but it was something much different than the usual charm he put on. </span>
</p>
<p> <span>“I actually have a partner,” Bond said, clasping the woman’s hand in a gentle and friendly way. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of getting offended and leaving, she started raving about her own partner and his generosity and kindness. Her partner was a drug lord who was using money to keep her close, but she somehow still managed to find commonplace with Bond over their shared care for their respective partners. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q noticed the rest of the Q branch looking at him where he was on the comms, frowning at the screens. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When did Bond get a girlfriend?” #17 asked, her voice small. She was the only member of staff who still held out hope that he might notice her someday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe Bond managed to divert a honeypot,” R said, frowning at the screen. “Our research showed that seduction would be necessary in divulging information.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He must have new tactics,” Q said, trying hard not to smile at the sight of Bond, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>partner</span>
  </em>
  <span>, on the screen. They hadn’t necessarily discussed it, but this felt right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s previous relationships had required NDA’s and discretion, to a point of requiring an intense conversation regarding boundaries and guidelines. So far, none of those typical conversations had happened with Bond and they were doing great. Q would say phenomenal, considering their jobs and the risk that they are both in now that they are romantically engaged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although, this new development meant that Eve was likely to hear about it soon. She had managed not to catch on, assuming that whatever was occurring between them either was still in the sexual tension phase, or fizzled out as quickly as it started. It was sort of rude for her to assume that a single night of passion was enough for Q to break his life changing crush on Bond, but he was sure that she had good intentions. Or she knew everything and was a particularly good liar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt guilty having to tell her about their relationship this way, but he had already suspected that Eve was withholding a relationship status change of her own, so it would be complete and total fairness for them both to reveal their own discretions at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the same, Q was going to make Bond come without touching him when he got back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Darling,” Bond whispered in Q’s ear, his hands rubbing Q’s shoulders. He was watching Q code after dropping his equipment off post mission. The hands meant he’d rather have sex in Q’s office than go back to Q’s flat and wait until later today. Q’s performance the night before, when Bond had gotten home, was apparently memorable. He was very proud of making him come in his pants like a teenager, and he was certainly receptive of the incredible blowjob he got in return. He knew that Bond was craving a repeat performance, if the low voice and proximity meant anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q was glad to have completely ruined all expectations that Bond had in the bedroom. He finally had the opportunity to prove his own prowess in a way that would shatter Bond’s own preconceptions and express his own gratitude towards Bond’s mention of him on mission. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(He had called Bond his boyfriend on a phone call to his mom this morning, which resulted in Bond tightening his arms around Q’s waist from behind and making him nearly a half hour late for work.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can this wait until another time? I have a time sensitive deadline for this particular piece of AI,” Q said, squirming underneath Bond’s touch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One kiss,” Bond said. With Bond, it was never one kiss, it was always something more. He would not escape with one of anything purely because Bond was an octopus who insisted on cuddling and physically touching every moment of the day. Not that Q was complaining, considering the irrefutable hotness of Bond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rolling his eyes, Q turned and kissed Bond. He tried to pull back after a moment, but he found himself wanting to keep kissing him. The bastard always made Q feel this way, as if one kiss was not enough, or that one moment was not enough. Especially with Bond’s hands cupping his face, he wanted to lean in to give him everything in return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q barely noticed his office door opening, and it wasn’t until Eve’s heels made noise on his floor that he pulled away. He looked over at her, almost laughing at the comical look of surprise on her face. Open mouthed, she looked between Q and Bond, eyes wide and mildly angry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>twats</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Eve said, nearly dropping her own tablet. “I came down here to investigate the gossip that Bond had a new girlfriend, specifically so I could talk him out of running away to become her personal body guard and console you about the fact that the man you loved had run off with some floozy, and you two are canoodling!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q and Bond glanced at each other, Bond shrugging slightly. “You’re no floozy, darling,” Bond said, running one hand over Q’s mess of hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As long as you’re fine with the fact that I might be in love with you,” Q said, his eyes widening slightly at the admittance of love. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ditto,” Bond said, winking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you just ‘ditto’ saying I love you?” Eve asked, sounding even more confused than before. She looked at Q, as if he was supposed to be scandalized by this entire situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He knows I care,” Bond said, leaning down to press a kiss on top of Q’s head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q shook his head, spinning back to his computer so he could actually get some work done. “Don’t seem so scandalized, Moneypants. We are adult men who are perfectly capable of expressing our feelings towards each other. Unless you’d like to discuss who is leaving you with your shirt untucked from your skirt every Wednesday afternoon, I suggest that you take your gossip with you out the door,” Q said calmly, writing another line of code. He didn’t need to glance away from his computer to know that Eve had shot a glare at Bond and walked out, likely off to complain to M or refuel the gossip within MI-6. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cat’s out of the bag,” Bond muttered, his hand trailing across Q’s shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of cats, can you pick up some cat food on your way to my flat?” Q asked, tipping his head back so that Bond’s hand brushed his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Bond said, leaning down for one more kiss. He kept it short this time, his hand brushing hair from Q’s face. “Do try to be home by dinner, I have steak.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lovely,” Q said, immediately looking back to his computer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard Bond leave, shutting and locking his office to ensure absolutely no interruptions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Q got up to refresh his tea nearly an hour later, he noticed a small gift left on the edge of Q’s desk. He tore off the paper quickly, smiling at the Dizzee Rascal CD. Bond had finally learned what sort of music he liked. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you have the time, listen to a bit of Dizzee Rascal. Find out why Q was sort of meh about getting Coldplay CDs.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, thank you for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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